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imagineteamfreewill · 2 months ago

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Powerful Magic

Title: Powerful Magic

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 13.7k

Warnings: Brief language, witches, magic/curses, frequent mentions of death and dying, crying, very light blood, angst, fluff

Summary: While on a witch hunt in Boston, Sam puts his life on the line to save Y/N. When he begins to suffer from the effects of the magic the next morning, they’re forced into an impossible situation with no way out.

A/N: This is a commission for the lovely @park-simphwa. Thank you to them for giving me such a fun prompt to write, and thank you to everyone who supports me in a million other ways. As always, I hope you enjoy this story!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

You aren’t expecting to run into anyone on the grocery run, least of all your old hunting partner, but life’s been throwing fireball after fireball at you lately, so you really shouldn’t be surprised. It’s been years since you’ve seen Jason, and somehow he still looks exactly the same, maybe with a few more wrinkles and scars. His hair is still greasy and cropped close to his skull, and you can smell the cigarettes on him even from where you stand a few feet away. His boots are caked with dried mud that sprinkles across the tile of the grocery store every time he shifts his weight or takes a step to get out of someone’s way, which is often because he’s always been the type of guy that thinks of himself first and others second.

Smiling tightly, you yank your cart closer to the shelves of jarred salsa and bottles of colorful sodas to make room for people trying to get by, and you use that movement to look over your shoulder. There’s no sign of Sam or Dean.

Damnit.

“So, how’ve you been?” Jason asks. “You look good, Y/N.”

You nod. “Good, fine. How about you? Are you still…?” You don’t dare utter the words aloud, but Jason gets the hint. He nods.

“Still in pest control. It keeps me busy.” He grins, and you try not to grimace at the yellow tinge of his teeth. How had you ignored all of his red flags for so long? With the exception of your last hunt together, it’s not like Jason was necessarily a bad guy, he was just gross and inconsiderate. On top of the constant smoking, he always took too long to shower after coming back from hunts. You know for a fact that he only brushed his teeth once a week. Plus, you don’t remember ever seeing him do laundry, though logically, he’d done it at some point… Right? Or maybe you’d just gotten used to the stench.

“There you are,” Sam’s voice in your ear makes you shiver, but his hand on your lower back warms you right back up. “I was looking for you.” He pauses. “Who’s this?”

You glance up at him, smiling in relief. Sam doesn’t smile back. His face is a hard mask of protectiveness, one that you’re always grateful for, even if it’s being wasted. You know that he’s amping it up a little just because you were approached while he was out of sight. He’s always a little more protective when he thinks you’re getting hit on by some creep. You can’t count the number of times he’s pretended to be your boyfriend to help you avoid men hitting on you at the skeevy dive bars that you always seem to find after hunts. Part of you should be offended that he’s stepping in instead of letting you handle it yourself, but you know he doesn’t do it because he doesn’t think you’re capable. Sam does it because you shouldn’t have to fend them off on your own. You shouldn’t have to be in that position, but because you are, he’s not going to let you be there alone.

“This is Jason. He’s an old coworker, from before I joined up with you and Dean. Jason, this is my…”

You hesitate, instantly knowing that you shouldn’t. You and Sam are just friends. It doesn’t matter how badly you want to be more than that, or how easily the two of you fall into the rhythm of a fake relationship, both for a moment in the grocery store or for a week-long hunt. It doesn’t matter that Dean insists his younger brother likes you. It doesn’t matter what Sam said the one time you’ve seen him really, truly drunk. You’re just friends.

“—friend,” Sam finishes. He holds out his right hand, and his fierce expression has been replaced with a polite smile, though you can tell it’s fake. You know him well, but for a second, he almost looks a bit jealous. “Sam.”

Jason shakes his hand with both eyebrows raised. His smile had faded the second Sam approached, but now he seems uneasy. “Sam. And… Dean?” He glances between you and Sam. “As in…?”

You cut him off with a quick, “I’m so sorry, Jason, but we’re really cutting it close on time.” His mouth snaps shut and he has the decency to look chagrined. Anyone with any common sense in the hunting world knows not to name names, especially last ones. You never know who might be listening.

“She’s right. Dean’s waiting on us, and we’ve got to get back on the road. It was great meeting you,” Sam adds. “Any friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine.” His hand drops from the small of your back. You try not to let your disappointment show.

With one last smile and a promise to keep in touch, even though all three of you know that you won’t, you make a u-turn with the cart and walk with Sam toward the checkout lanes. He doesn’t say anything as the two of you unload the items onto the belt, nor does he say anything as the items are scanned and bagged. Your stomach churns as the tension crackles between you. Why had you hesitated? Why had you acted so weird? Had Sam really been jealous, or did you just imagine it?

Chill out, you think as you load the bags of groceries into the cart. Sam pulls out his wallet and swipes his latest fraudulent card, then takes the receipt. You watch out of the corner of his eye as he tucks the card into the left hand pocket, the one he reserves for cards he’ll need to ditch soon.

You’re going to make this worse if you don’t relax.

You follow him out to the Impala, pushing the cart slow enough that you won’t run into him if he stops. Dean is already leaning against the side of the car. He has an energy drink in one hand and his phone in the other. Whatever else he decided to buy has already been loaded into the trunk. He glances between you and Sam as you get closer, clearly sensing something is off, and you watch as he straightens and deposits his phone into the pocket of his jacket.

“Everything okay?” Dean asks.

Before you can answer, Sam nods. “Yeah, all good. They were out of the soup you wanted.”

Dean grumbles to himself and opens the trunk, then helps you unload the groceries. His three bags of purchases are already tucked into the back, and you’re careful not to load anything on top of them in case he bought something that could get squished. As you work, Sam goes around to the passenger side and takes his seat, shutting the door behind him.

“What happened?” Dean asks you. He rearranges some of the bags you’ve put onto the trunk’s false bottom. Though there’s plenty of noise to talk over in the busy parking lot, he keeps his voice quiet enough that Sam won’t be able to hear it through the backseat.

You don’t meet his eyes. “Nothing. Just ran into an old partner of mine, that’s all.”

“Partner?” You can feel his gaze on you, and your cheeks grow warm.

“Not like that,” you huff. “We were just… partners. For a while, it could have been something else, but it never happened.”

“Why not?”

Unloading the last bag, you glance up at the storefront, where Jason is exiting. He’s only got two bags in hand, but there’s a six-pack of beer tucked under his arm. He already has a cigarette tucked between his lips. Dean looks past you and grunts a little.

“If that’s him, I can see why.”

“Be nice,” you tell him.

“Was he at least a good guy?”

You shrug. “He wasn’t bad. Just kinda gross, that’s all.”

Dean grabs your arm before you can walk away with the cart. You look back at him, and he’s watching you with the same protective glint in his eye that Sam had inside the store.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks, and you shake your head. “Did he say something to you in there?”

“No. That’s not why it was weird.”

“I gotta know if something happened, Y/N. If I’m gonna ride in the car with the two of you—”

“I hesitated, okay?” you answer, yanking yourself free from his grip. Your cheeks are definitely hot now, and it’s not the sun. It’s still cloudy from last night’s storm. “I went to introduce Sam and I hesitated.”

Dean is staring at you like you’ve just broken into song. “You hesitated?”

Sighing, you look up at the clouds, willing yourself not to be so embarrassed by this. It shouldn’t be this big of a deal.

“Yes, I hesitated. Instead of just saying that his name was Sam, I said, ‘This is Sam, my….’” You gesture with the hand not holding the cart, letting the unfinished sentence hang in the air.

His face twists. “Oh. Rookie move, Y/N.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“So what did you end up saying?” Dean asks.

“I didn’t. Sam finished and said he was my friend.”

“And you want to be more than friends.”

“I didn’t say that,” you quickly reply, but you look away, and your cover is ruined.

“Why don’t you believe me when I tell you that he likes you? You two are driving me insane. I’m going to lose my mind before we ever get to Boston if this keeps up.”

You roll your eyes and head towards the cart corral, then push the cart in with the others. Dean’s already in the driver’s seat by the time you start walking back, and he starts pulling out of the spot as soon as you have the back door shut. Sam doesn’t say anything. You cast him a quick glance, but that’s all you risk as you settle into your usual spot with the book he’s loaned you. It isn’t one you’re particularly interested in, but you’ve traded books for the trip. You’re fairly certain that you got the short end of the stick. Despite the years of friendship under your belt, he never takes your book suggestions. Then again, you don’t take his.

The universe finally takes mercy on you, and the rest of the drive to Boston goes by faster than expected. You have one overnight stay in a motel, but the boys decide to get two rooms instead of one, so you get a queen size bed and the bathroom all to yourself.

Once in Boston, you check in to a second motel, then head out to get your bearings. The person who sent the information to Dean had only given you the address for the hotel where the witch is supposedly hiding out, plus the names of two of the victims. Sam decides to look at some old, non-digitized records of the hotel, so you go with him, knowing that if you go with Dean, you’ll most likely end up at the morgue. You’re not really in the mood for a dead body. You’ll take an afternoon with your best friend over that any day, even if your best friend is currently giving you the cold shoulder.

You’re in one of the reservable rooms at the library, looking over the papers and logbooks spread out over the table, when Sam finally brings up the grocery store incident.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you look up from the patron log you’ve been carefully sorting through.

“Yeah, why?” You try not to seem surprised that he’s asking, considering he hasn’t said much of anything to you since you left the grocery store over 24 hours ago.

“You’ve been quiet since we ran into Jason.”

You shrug a little and look back down at the page, then flip it over to look at the names listed on the back. “I’ve been reading the book you loaned me.”

“It’s not that,” he says. “This is your ‘I made a mistake’ quiet.”

Not knowing how to answer, you keep your eyes on the book in front of you. Sam stares at you, and you can feel him watching you as you gingerly turn the page again.

“I don’t want to press—”

“I haven’t seen him in a while,” you finally say, still not looking up. It’s the truth, even if it’s not the whole truth. “It just… caught me off guard, that’s all. It’s not every day you run into someone that almost got you killed, you know? And then I was flustered when I introduced you, and I panicked. I was worried that maybe you were offended because I got all tongue-tied.”

He’s quiet for a second. You risk a glance in his direction, only to find that Sam is already watching you.

“What?” you ask. You fidget with the corner of the paper for a second, and then you have to force yourself to release it before you damage the time-worn parchment. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean—”

“No, that’s not it,” Sam interrupts, shaking his head. “I’m not offended, Y/N. I don’t think you could ever offend me.”

The tension between you breaks, and you grin at him. “Oh yeah? Not ever?”

He laughs and pulls his laptop over to where he’s sitting. “Well, maybe if you—”

“No, you can’t take it back now!” you laugh. You scoot your chair closer to his, closing the palpable gap that had been left between you. Sam shifts his stuff to make room for you, and you smile wide, happy to have your friend back. You try to ignore the way your heart leaps into your throat for a brief moment after his hand brushes yours.

You continue researching, but only a couple minutes have passed before Sam clears his throat and speaks up again.

“So, you and Jason,” he starts, and you close the logbook. There’s nothing useful in it and you add it to the growing pile of books you’ve finished.

“What about me and Jason?”

“Were you ever… together?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Like, dating?” Sam nods and you grab another book, not wanting to look at him when you answer, “Yeah, for a little while, right before we split.”

“Ah.”

“Mm-hmm.” You open the book, silently hoping he doesn’t ask any more questions about Jason. The two of you have never really talked about any of your past partners. It’s a sore subject for Sam, so you’ve respected the territory, even though you’ve come dangerously close on a few occasions. You usually don’t mind, considering you’d have to lie if he asked if you were interested in dating, and he can always tell if you’re lying.

“You said he almost got you killed,” Sam says, his voice a little softer. His fingers stall over his laptop keyboard, and the screen goes black.

You look up from the book and he’s watching you carefully, gauging your reaction. He knows how hard it can be to discuss the past, and you’re in public. It’s not exactly the safest place for a hunter heart-to-heart. These kinds of conversations are best held in the bunker, or late at night in a motel room.

After a second, you nod. “Yeah. He… He used me as bait, and I didn’t know that was the plan. And then, while he was waiting for them to approach me, he got drunk. He showed up much, much later than he should have.”

You have to look away and swallow the lump in your throat. Under the table, Sam finds your hand and squeezes.

“I promise to never do that to you,” he tells you, with such conviction that tears spring up in your eyes.

You squeeze his hand in return, blinking quickly to clear your vision. “I know.”

“I will always keep you safe, Y/N. You know that, right?”

Nodding, you look up and take a steadying breath, then smile a little. Sam’s expression doesn’t change. He’s not smiling back at you. Instead, he’s staring at you with an unmatched ferocity, and your smile fades.

“I know,” you gently reply. “I’ve never doubted that.”

You and Sam stare at each other for a long few moments. The other patrons in the library continue to go about their business, and he holds your hand under the table until his phone chimes loudly and several people look over. Sam pulls away first, reaching for the phone. You turn back to the book, feeling like a rug’s been pulled out from underneath your feet.

What was that all about?

You and Sam have spent countless hours alone together, even going so far as to pose as a couple on a hunt, but it’s never felt like this before. He’s never been so adamant that you know he cares about you and your safety, and he’s never asked about your past love life. Sam’s a passionate guy, too, but you rarely see this side of him. His passion is normally directed toward hunts, or toward the academic subjects and topics he studies in his free time.

“Dean’s got a lead,” Sam relays, staring at the message on his phone. He texts back a response as you nod and begin to pack up. He puts his phone away and starts to help, and you finish cleaning up together, bumping elbows and hands as you stack the materials the way they’d come. Sam carries them back to the circulation desk before you can offer to help, leaving you to follow behind. You don’t mind.

As soon as the three of you are together again, Dean drives to the abandoned hotel and parks in an alley, far enough back from the street that you won’t be easily seen. You unload the guns and witch-killing bullets while they compare notes. You listen in silence as you load all three weapons. The whole thing sounds very straightforward.

“Ready?” Sam asks, and you nod, holding out his gun. He takes it and gives it a quick once-over before nodding his approval. Dean does the same.

You decide to head into the hotel through the old maintenance entrance. The two victims had been found just outside the door, and you quickly discover that it was the right choice. Dean taps on your shoulder only a minute after you enter the building, then points at a bookshelf half-full of spell ingredients. Jars of all shapes and sizes hold everything from small animal bones to a shimmering blue liquid that reminds you of the “potions” you would make using various soaps and shampoos as a kid. It’s one of the few memories you and Sam have in common from your childhoods, though you made yours at your house and his toiletries came from a long string of motels.

There’s another tap on your shoulder and you glance behind you at Sam, who gestures to your left with his gun. You turn down the hallway, following the sound of shuffling that you hadn’t heard before. It gets louder as you get closer, and then the person begins to chant. Her voice is deep and rich, and without realizing it, you’re lowering your gun. All you want to do is listen. The Latin is almost melodic.

“What are you doing?” Dean hisses. He pulls you away from an open doorway by the collar of your jacket. You stumble and blink at him.

“She okay?” Sam whispers.

“I have to…” You struggle to voice the burning desire inside of you, the little voice in your head telling you to find the witch. Deep down, you know that it’s dangerous and that you’re being affected by whatever spell she’s performing, but your hands move of their own accord, pushing the boys out of your way.

Stop! You have to fight this, you think, but it’s as if your conscience is behind a thick glass pane. Your own thoughts feel muffled and far away. They’re useless against the effects of the witch’s magic.

Sam reaches for you, and you dodge him as you duck into the next room of the hotel. It’s an old ballroom with high, vaulted ceilings. A dusty chandelier with cracked crystal pendants hangs precariously over the center of the patterned dance floor, and cobwebs are strung up in every corner. Broken tables and chairs are pushed against one wall, and boarded up windows separate you from the garbage-littered street outside. A balcony winds around two of the walls, with the staircase behind the witch. The banister is made of marble columns and a dark wooden handrail coated with a thin layer of dust. Lit candles litter the floor, and beneath the chandelier, the witch stands surrounded by metal bowls of ingredients and a sigil painted in white.

She reaches out a hand for you when you enter. You’re in a daze, and as your feet carry you closer to her, your gut churns. Something inside you is screaming—every hunter’s instinct you have is telling you to lift your gun and shoot, but you reach down and place your weapon on the dusty tile instead.

Chanting louder, the witch’s eyes begin to glow a vibrant red. An aura around her does the same, and your breath hitches at the sight.

This is wrong!

She smiles then, beckoning you with her fingers, and the sudden onset of nerves dissipates. You smile back, taking another step.

“Y/N!”

Dean’s voice makes you blink, and you flinch when a gunshot goes off behind you. It hits the banister behind the witch. Her volume increases again, reeling you back in as she pulls a thin, jagged knife from a sheath at her hip. Letters etched onto the blade glow red as well, and your eyes are drawn to it. Your mouth feels dry as you shuffle forward, entirely focused on the weapon in her hand.

“That’s it,” the witch coos, now finished with the incantation. “It’s alright, dear one.”

“Y/N, don’t!” Another shot rings out, but it sounds far away as you step closer. You’re almost to the edge of the sigil. Two more steps and you’ll be within her reach.

Someone grabs your arm, yanking you backwards. She screams a horrible scream, one that makes you shudder and cringe as an arm winds around your stomach, pulling you even further away. Your feet drag across the floor and you cling to the arm of whoever’s holding you. You’re torn between fighting them and letting yourself be rescued, but then the glow from the witch’s eyes fade. You gasp for air, feeling her hold on you relax.

“Dean,” you croak. You can’t see his face, but the feel of his jacket against your palms is familiar and comforting. Your throat feels raw, as if you’ve been screaming for hours. You go to say something, to warn him that her spell is almost finished, when the red light concentrates at her fingertips. “Dean!”

There’s a flash of red. You close your eyes, turning your head away as Dean pulls you harder against him and whirls around so his back is toward the witch. Over the witch’s shout, you hear Sam yell something, and then there’s a heavy thud.

“Sammy!” Dean releases you, cursing, and you fall to your hands and knees.

You yelp when you hit the floor. Your bones immediately ache from the impact, and you stay there for a minute. You know that you’ve messed up. Guilt blooms in the center of your chest and tears well up in your eyes. You feel weak and, for a second, violated. You should’ve been able to resist the witch’s magic.

Get it together, you silently order. You have to focus. You can feel bad after you kill her.

“Y/N!”

Looking over, you see Dean crouching beside his brother, who’s laid out on his side. Sam’s eyes are closed and your chest tightens.

“Sam!” you cry, and you scramble over to where he lays just outside the witch’s sigil.

Dean rolls him onto his back, and you kneel beside him, cradling his face in both hands as you search for any sign of life.

“Sam? Sam, wake up,” you plead.

“He’s still breathing,” Dean tells you. “She knocked him out with whatever that was.”

“Please, Sam. Please, open your eyes.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding, and you’re crying by the time he inhales sharply through his nose and blinks his eyes open. They immediately focus on you.

“Thank God,” you sob, and you throw yourself on top of him, hugging him tightly. Sam’s hand comes up to pat at your back.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

Sam grunts and winces as you pull back to look at him. “I think so,” he says after a second. “Did you get her?”

You shake your head and take a shaky breath, wiping at your cheeks and eyes. You sniffle for good measure, then say, “She got away, but she hit you with something. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

He shakes his head back at you, then closes his eyes. “It’s not your fault. She was more powerful than we thought,” he tells you. With his eyes still closed, he feels for your hand. He squeezes it when he finds it, and you squeeze back, just like you had in the library.

“You sure you’re okay?” Dean asks. “You hit the floor pretty hard.”

“Just give me a minute.”

After several minutes, Sam slowly sits up. You and Dean help him to his feet, and then the three of you make your way back through the hotel to the car. Sam seems mostly himself on the drive back to the motel, but you’re on edge. You watch him carefully, cataloging anything that’s even slightly out of character.

“We’ll have to keep you awake tonight, make sure you don’t have a concussion,” Dean says as he sheds his jacket. He throws it over the back of one of the dining chairs.

“I definitely have a headache,” Sam replies. He moves slowly and stiffly, and you don’t blame him. You’ve been thrown to the floor dozens of times. It never hurts any less.

“I’ll take first shift,” you tell Dean. “Clean up and get some rest.”

He nods and heads into the bathroom while you help Sam get settled on the bed. You take his jacket from him, carefully noting how he winces when he moves his right shoulder, and drape it over the second chair.

“It’s a good thing we’re friends,” Sam says. He takes off his socks and shoes, then positions the pillows behind him so he can sit up against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him.

“Huh?” Your heart skips a beat. What’s he talking about?

“It would really suck staying up with me,” he clarifies. “If we weren’t friends, that is.”

“Oh. Yeah.” You smile a little before plugging in your phone. “You want some water?”

“Are you okay, Y/N?”

You freeze, fiddling with the lid of the ice bucket. You’ve got your back to him, so he can’t see the way you close your eyes, but he’s caught on to your lingering guilt much sooner than you hoped he would. You were hoping that Dean would at least be asleep before you had to have this conversation.

“I’m fine,” you answer. You grab the bucket and turn, giving him a forced smile. “Just tired. I’m gonna go get some ice.”

Sam swings his legs back over the side of the bed. He tries to hide his wince, but you catch it. You always do.

“I’ll come with you,” he says.

“You already took your shoes off.”

“What’s a little tetanus between friends?” He smiles at you and stands. You step closer, ready to steady him if needed. He’s fine, however, and he takes the ice bucket from you before gesturing toward the door.

Unable to argue, you lead him outside. The two of you walk in silence until you hear the door click shut. You’re already several rooms down, but the motel is larger than most, and the only working ice machine is in the tiny vending machine room at the far end of the building.

“What happened back at the hotel?” Sam asks.

You know he won’t judge you, but you keep your gaze forward. You don’t want to see his expression.

When you haven’t replied after passing several rooms, he gently asks, “Y/N?”

“I don’t know,” you finally admit, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets. You’re glad you kept it on. There’s a receipt in one of the pockets and you crush it into a ball as you continue, “Whatever spell she was doing�� It’s like it was directed at me. I didn’t even realize what was happening until it was too late, but by then I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t control myself. I was just—”

You inhale sharply and stop walking, looking up at the dilapidated roof covering the motel walkway. You’re blinking away tears again, and you hate how weak you feel.

“It’s not your fault,” he says. He moves to stand in front of you, blocking the sun as it sets over the motel parking lot. “She was more powerful than we anticipated.”

Sniffling, you cross your arms over your chest and stare at one of the support columns off to the side. “I know.”

“You’re still you,” Sam says.

“What?”

“You’re still you,” he repeats. “No matter how her magic affected you, you’re still you. You’re not any less strong or smart or tough than you were before we went into that building.”

Tears truly well up at his words and you look up again, letting out a weak chuckle. “How is it that you know exactly what to say?” You wipe at your eyes and take a shaky breath to try and steady yourself.

When you finally meet his gaze, Sam answers, “Because I know you better than anyone else, and because I’ve been where you are. And you know what you told me the last time I was doubting myself because of all the crap I’ve been through?”

You sniffle and force a wobbly smile, remembering the late-night conversation you’d had months ago after he’d had a particularly awful nightmare. “That you’re still you,” you repeat. “And that we’ll always be friends, no matter what.”

Sam smiles back. After a second, he tilts his head to the side, toward the door to the vending machine room. You nod and start walking again, and he falls into step beside you. The silence that settles between you is comfortable again, and the knots in your stomach have loosened with his reassurance.

You get back to the room to find Dean already asleep, face-down on the bed. Sam climbs back into bed as well, and you fill up both your and his water bottles with ice water. He takes it with a silent, grateful smile. You slide under the covers beside him, intent on researching the witch on your laptop while he reads on his phone. You probably should yell at him for staring at a screen with a possible concussion, but you both know that he’s had so many that a few hours in front of a screen won’t kill him at this point.

Dean wakes up a few hours later and switches places with you. Though you know you should probably shower before you sleep, resting up is more important if you’re going to find the witch sooner rather than later.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Dean. Just tired.”

“Maybe you should hang tight for today, try and get some sleep while Y/N and I do a little more research.”

You blink your eyes open and immediately squint. Dean must have every light in the motel room on. You swear he does it to spite you, and you groan in protest.

“Good morning to you too,” he teases, stepping into your line of vision.

You throw a pillow at him, and Dean catches it with one hand, laughing. You grunt and push yourself up with one hand, using the other to rub at your eyes.

“How’d you sleep?” Sam asks.

Yawning, you start to answer, but you stop as soon as you see him. Sam looks awful. His skin is pale and drawn, and the bags under his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen. He gives you a weak smile.

“We’re heading to the diner down the street for breakfast,” he says. “You wanna come with?”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Dean replies. He pulls on his jacket and digs the keys out of his pocket. “Except back to bed.”

You sit up a little more, frowning. “You sure you’re not sick?” you ask Sam. “I mean, I’ve seen you when you’re tired, but you look…”

“Like he’s been hit with a spell,” finishes Dean. “I’ve already told him that, but he says that the witch didn’t say anything when she hit him with that freaky red light.”

“I’m fine, Dean,” Sam says. He stands from the side of the bed, but he instantly starts to sway. You’re on your feet in a split-second, steadying him with a hand on his arm.

“Maybe you should stay here,” you quietly suggest. You glance over at Dean, who holds up his hands.

“I’ll be in the car,” Dean tells you, and you nod.

You and Sam stand in silence until Dean’s gone and the door shuts behind him. Then, you look at him with as stern a look as you can muster having just woken up.

“Be honest.”

“I’m tired.”

“Sam.”

He sighs.

“Sam.”

“I’m… exhausted. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this tired in my life, and I want to sleep, but I’m scared,” he admits.

Your eyebrows push together as you frown even harder, and you guide him to sit beside you on the edge of his bed. “Why are you scared?”

“The witch didn’t say anything when she hit me with whatever it was, but we also know that her magic was strong enough to affect you from several rooms away,” Sam says. “If she did something to me, we have no clues as to what it is.”

You hum a little, mulling over his words for a second before looking over at him. “What if I gave Rowena a call? Had her come check you over, see if there’s any kind of lingering effect we haven’t seen yet?”

Sam takes a deep breath, then exhales and shakes his head. “We already owe her.”

“It’s a price I’m willing to pay. You’re my best friend, Sam. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Because I wouldn’t know what to do without you. Those words go unspoken, but you hope he hears them regardless.

Nodding, Sam replies, “Okay. Okay. I’ll… I’ll give her a call.”

“No, I’ll do it. You should rest. I’ll keep an eye on you,” you assure him. “I’ll make sure you’re safe, Sam.”

He smiles just a little bit, though you can tell it’s only for your sake. “You always do.”

You get up to grab your phone from where you’d left it charging, and Sam slowly lays back on the bed. As you type out a text to Rowena, you try to remember if the witch really hadn’t said something, or if you’ve just forgotten it.

“I’m gonna text Dean and let him know to go ahead without me. Do you want him to get you anything?” you ask. He doesn’t reply. “Sam? Did you hear—”

Turning, you stop when you see Sam has his eyes closed. For a second, you worry that he’s dead, and you hold your breath as you wait to see his chest move. When it does, you exhale heavily.

He’s okay, you reassure yourself. He’s going to be just fine.

You shoot a quick text to Dean with your order, plus a few things that Sam might want, and Rowena replies as soon as you’re done. She’s nearby.

The rest of the day goes by uneventfully. Sam sleeps for an hour or so at a time. Every time he wakes, he looks more tired than before, and the smaller-than-usual meals he eats don’t seem to help him at all. It’s hard to tell since he’s been in bed most of the day, but when he gets up around dinnertime, he looks thinner.

Dean’s pacing the length of the room by the time Rowena shows up at the door, and you’re in even worse condition. You’re pretty sure that if she’d shown up any later, he might actually have relented and taken Sam to a hospital. You caught a glimpse of his phone when he passed by and he had the directions already open on his maps app.

Rowena stands beside the bed and moves her hands over Sam’s chest. He’s awake now, and he stares straight up at the ceiling as she works. A soft glow emanates from her palms, but as you watch from a few feet away, it strengthens, turning from golden to crimson to a vibrant purple.

“Well?” Dean asks. He shifts in place by the small dining table. His fingers twitch and he makes a fist with one hand. “Is he alright?”

She drops her hands and turns to face the two of you. Sam sits back up against the headboard, and you glance over at him. His eyes are bloodshot, as if he hasn’t slept in days. You’ve seen him look like this before, but it’s never been this concerning. He’s never managed to look this ragged so quickly.

“It’s a siphoning curse,” she explains, adjusting the jacket she’s wearing over her black jumpsuit.

“Siphoning?” Dean questions. “Siphoning what?”

“Life.”

You suck in a breath. It’s cold against your teeth, and Sam meets your eyes. There’s recognition in them, and not in a good way. A lump forms in your throat as you turn back to Rowena.

“Life?” you ask her. “But… Then…”

“I’ll die,” Sam finishes.

You blink. Your eyes burn and you frantically shake your head, taking a deep breath. Inside your chest, your lungs stutter as you try to compose yourself.

“No,” Dean says, shaking his head. “No. There’s got to be a way.”

Rowena purses her lips a little. She clearly knows more, and you take a step forward, clenching both hands into fists.

“Tell us,” you demand. “Tell us!”

You don’t mean to scream—you really don’t—but it just comes out. Dean reaches for you, grabbing your arm and looking toward the door with wide eyes as he listens for a response from anyone nearby who might have heard. Rowena doesn’t react. Swallowing thickly, you look from her to Sam, who has his eyes downcast and his hands folded in his lap. If you didn’t know any better, you might think he was sleeping, but the way he grimaces as you yank your arm from Dean’s tells you that he’s awake and listening.

Your throat feels raw and you swallow again. “How long?” you croak.

“A week, at most,” Rowena adds. “It’s likely he will be unconscious for the last few days. It takes a lot of energy to stay awake, and his body will try to conserve as much as it can before it fully shuts down.”

Dean mutters a curse and shakes his head again. “No. There has to be a way. A counter-curse?”

Rowena shakes her head, and this time, her expression is almost apologetic. “I’m afraid not. Whoever cast this spell is very powerful, and it would take extremely powerful magic to reverse the curse.”

You look from her, to Sam, to Dean, and then finally back at her. Rowena is the most powerful witch you know.

“Can you reverse it?”

“I’m sorry, dear,” she replies, meeting your gaze. Her lips press together in a sad smile. It’s the first show of genuine emotion you’ve seen from her, and it’s not enough. “But this is beyond even me.”

“And if we killed her?” Dean asks.

“It won’t have an effect. You still need the magic to reverse it. Not even the caster herself can reverse this particular curse once it’s taken hold.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Go home,” Sam finally says. It’s so quiet that you almost miss it in your hurry to ask about recruiting another witch to help you, but you stop with your mouth open. Sam opens his eyes and sighs softly. “We go home.”

“Bullshit. I’m not taking you home just so you can die!”

“Dean. Enough. You heard what she said.”

Rowena looks between Sam and Dean. After a moment, she says, “I need a moment alone with Samuel here.”

Immediately, Dean is on guard. He straightens up, standing tall as he stares her down with enough ire that you want to shirk back, and you’re not even on the receiving end of his glare.

“I might be able to give him some more time,” she gently adds. With more confidence than you think you could muster if you were in her shoes, she places a hand on Dean’s arm and takes one step forward, guiding him toward the door.

“One of us stays,” Dean answers, nodding his chin in your direction.

Rowena nods, agreeing, “Y/N is welcome to stay, but you have a habit of riling him up. Big brothers always have a way of doing that, in my experience.”

“I need to know what you’re doing before you do it. No funny business,” he adds.

She nods again and gestures with one hand to the door. “Let’s talk outside.”

You stand by the dresser, watching as she leads Dean out of the room. He exits with one last look over his shoulder at Sam, but Rowena pacifies his worries with words too quiet for you to hear. She gives you a strange look before she follows him out and closes the door behind them.

You stare at the door for a second, then at the window adjacent. The white horizontal blinds have gaps in them after years of use, and you’re able to see Dean, then Rowena, as they move to the side to talk. Eventually, they walk away, most likely to the Impala for spell ingredients. Sam’s been keeping a small travel case in the trunk for the past year or so, especially since you’ve been away from the bunker more and more often.

As you wait for them to return, your gaze drifts back to Sam. He’s watching you.

“What?” you ask after a second.

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” You wipe your cheeks with both hands, unsurprised that there are tears you hadn’t initially registered. “I probably look a mess right now.”

“Not any more than me, I’m sure,” he replies with a wry smile. You both fall silent for a minute before he continues, “You’re gonna be okay, you know.”

“What?” Your voice cracks. You hate it.

“Without me.”

You inhale through your nose and push your hair back, doing anything to keep your hands busy. “Don’t— Don’t talk like that. Rowena said she might be able to give you more time. We’ll find something, Sam. You’re not going to die.”

“I was going to die eventually. Everyone does.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” he asks.

You look up at the ceiling, staring for a few seconds at the circular brown water stain that stretches several feet into the room. You’re lucky it hasn’t rained in Boston since you arrived, judging by the darkness of the stain. The dark brown is unchanging, but it’s not enough to steady yourself.

“I don’t want to live without you,” you finally say, your voice trembling.

Sam doesn’t answer, and when you look down at him, he’s wiping tears from his own face. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look truly upset since Rowena broke the news.

Maybe it’s just finally settling in, you think.

His chest shudders as he takes a breath and it’s enough to propel you forward, to move you to his side. You stand beside the bed, staring down at him until he reaches for your hand. He grabs it with more strength than he’s shown all day and you suck in a sharp breath, tears welling up in your eyes all over again.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sam,” you whimper, and you use your free hand to wipe them away, but he shakes his head. He pulls you down until you’re sitting on the opposite side of him. Your legs are draped over his and your feet dangle over the edge of the bed. You lean against his shoulder and start to cry in earnest, and Sam holds you. He doesn’t ask you to stop, and for that, you’re grateful.

Your cries have petered out by the time Rowena and Dean come back into the room. You can’t bear to make eye contact with them as they return, so you stare at where Sam is holding your hand atop your knees. Besides letting out the occasional sniffle, you simply listen as Rowena explains her plan to help extend Sam’s life. It’s a complex spell, one you’ve never heard of. She claims it will only add a few days, essentially putting off the point where he’ll become comatose, but it’s more hope than you had before. Sam asks questions about the ingredients and the text and the magic, which Rowena answers somewhat impatiently. Dean is strangely quiet.

“You’ll have to move for the spell, dear,” Rowena gently instructs.

Nodding, you clumsily pull your legs from Sam’s lap and move to roll off the other side of the mattress, but Sam grabs your hand before you get too far. You look back at him, confused.

“Stay,” he says. “Please.”

After a second, you nod again, then settle against the headboard beside him. Sam carefully lays down on his back. He rests one arm in the space between his body and the edge of the bed, but he takes your hand with the other. You rub your thumb over his as Rowena takes her place on the other side of him and begins to mix the spell in the small copper bowl they’ve retrieved from the Impala.

She chants, her eyes glowing purple, and Sam squeezes your hand with a grunt. His grip is almost bone-crushing and it takes everything in you not to yelp.

Stay strong, you urge yourself. He can’t help it.

The glow of Rowena’s eyes grows so bright it’s blinding. You look away, closing your eyes and gritting your teeth as Sam squeezes your hand even tighter, but then suddenly, he releases you.

You open your eyes and look over to see him passed out beside you. The purple light is fading and your heart leaps into your chest.

“Sam?”

“Sam!” Dean cries. He pushes Rowena backwards onto the other bed and pulls his gun on her. “What the hell did you do to him?”

She holds up her hands in defense as you shake Sam by the shoulder, then pat his cheek. “Your precious brother will be fine,” she soothes, a small smile on her face. “The spell takes some time to activate, like I told you. He’ll look better when he’s awake again.”

“And we’re supposed to believe you? Just like that?” Dean gestures a little with the gun, but it stays pointed in her direction.

Rowena scoffs. “Don’t forget that you came to me, Dean Winchester. You already owe me for the spell.”

You’re gentle as you check to make sure Sam’s still breathing. He is and you sit back on your feet.

“She’s right,” you say. “He’s still breathing.”

Raising an eyebrow, Rowena stares Dean down until he lowers the gun. She gives him a satisfied smile when he reluctantly tucks it back into his waistband, then stands and dusts off her hands.

“Now,” she sighs, smoothing the wrinkles in her jumpsuit from where Dean had shoved her. “I believe some payment is in order.”

Dean turns around to look at you. For a second, you stare at each other, and you have the brief thought that he might do something stupid, or crazy, or both, but then he grits his teeth and his jaw clenches. That’s when you know that he’s fighting the urge to pull his gun back out. The only reason he hasn’t is because Sam’s life is already on the line. One bad choice could lead to Rowena casting another curse on him.

“Go,” you quietly urge. “I’ve got him.” You nod in encouragement, and Dean returns it with one terse nod of his own.

You carefully move Sam’s hands to rest on his stomach, then sit beside him as Dean leads Rowena back out to the Impala. Whatever he’s giving her as recompense for the spell, it must be valuable, because he comes back in with clenched fists and muttering curses under his breath. He begins to pace the length of the room again. You don’t interrupt. Your chest aches and an empty feeling grows as you think of what life will be like if you can’t save Sam. Dean’s jaw is still clenched, and you know he’s doing the same.

“We—” He stops by the door to the bathroom, lifting a hand, but he drops it back down by his side. “Y/N, we have to find something.” His voice breaks and a lump forms in your throat, just as tears form in Dean’s eyes.

You nod. “I know.”

“We’ll— I’ll give Jody a call, and Garth. Maybe they’ll know of another witch that can help us.”

You look down at Sam and inhale shakily. With one hand, you adjust the sleeve of Sam’s t-shirt.

“I’m gonna take him home,” you tell Dean, not looking up.

“What?”

“He said he wanted to go home. I’m gonna take him home.”

“Like hell you are!”

Finally, you look up and meet Dean’s eyes. You have to take a second to breathe when you see him. You’ve been with Dean Winchester for plenty of hunts, but he’s never looked this afraid. He’s a man that laughs in the face of danger, not one whose hands tremble when he thinks about his brother dying.

“We have to try, Y/N,” Dean says, and he’s staring at you with eyes so wild that you find yourself gripping the motel sheets crumpled beside you. “I can’t just let him die. Not like this.”

You have no response. Dean will just argue if you try to reason with him, but you know that Sam isn’t one to prolong the inevitable. It doesn’t matter how terrified of a future without him you are. If he’s made his peace with it, then you need to consider doing the same.

Even if it kills me too, you think.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Okay.”

Dean swallows thickly, then nods once. “I’ll start calling. See what I can find.” He’s just looking for a reason to leave the room so you can’t see past his hardened exterior, and you both know it, but you don’t argue.

You stare at the edge of the bed, just behind where he’d been standing, as he starts to leave. He’s made it to the door when you lift your head and look over at him.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Someone needs to be in the bunker. It’s better if he goes with me than with you.” Before he can argue, you continue, “What if you need to check something against one of the books? Or if you need an ingredient we don’t keep in the car? What’s your plan then? Sam knows both the library and the storage rooms better than both of us combined, and he’ll be able to rest when he needs it. Plus, if I need to, I can try and recreate the spell Rowena cast to give him extra time.”

Dean is quiet for a minute, but you see him nod through the gaps in the metal floral divider that separates the door from the rest of the room.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Then you two should get going. The sooner you’re there, the better.”

You’d driven together in the Impala, but it doesn’t take long for Dean to hotwire a car from the farthest row of the motel parking lot. The backseat is, mercifully, big enough for Sam to lay down without being at too strange an angle. You and Dean drag him from the room to the car together. You’re lucky that it’s getting dark and no one is out to watch the ordeal.

Dean loads your backpack and Sam’s duffel into the trunk. Then, he sends you off with a simple, “Drive safe,” and a hug. He holds you a little longer than normal, but you’re not opposed. It’s nice to know that you’re not alone in this.

The drive is uneventful. Sam sleeps for most of the night. He only wakes up a few times during the day for food and bathroom stops, and though he looks better since Rowena’s spell, he’s lost muscle mass and he still looks exhausted. You have to support him on the walk across the street to the motel the following night, but he falls asleep again almost as soon as he’s in bed. His sleep seems to be dreamless, and for that, you’re thankful.

You, on the other hand, don’t sleep much. You probably should, considering you haven’t slept in 24 hours, but your brain won’t turn off. You spend most of that night awake, listening to Sam breathe, texting Dean about his progress, and doing what research you can online. At some point you actually do fall asleep, and you wake to the sound of Sam stumbling across the room to the bathroom.

He’s getting weaker, you think, and you lay on your back, listening to the sound of the toilet flushing and the sink running as you stare up at the ceiling. You’ve cried so much over the past few days that the thought of crying now is exhausting. You just don’t have the energy.

It’s not a strange occurrence for you to lay in bed and listen to the boys move around a motel room. There have been plenty of mornings that Dean has gone out for food while Sam showers after his run, leaving you to soak up a few more minutes of sleep under the covers. Now, you can’t help but feel a little nostalgic for all those mornings. You don’t have many more with Sam, and Dean can be unpredictable when he’s grieving. You’re not sure if he’ll go off on his own or if you’ll be able to stick together.

When the door creaks open, you turn on your side and meet Sam’s eyes. His face, which you’ve come to associate with bright mornings just as much as the sun itself, is gaunt. It’s a harsh reminder that you’re losing him bit by bit. His cheeks and eyes have begun to sink in as well, as if his body is collapsing inwards, like a black hole. The effects of Rowena’s spell seem to have been short-lived.

“Good morning.” He’s leaning against the open door frame of the bathroom, and he’s managed to pull on a pair of clean pajama pants and a t-shirt.

You try not to let your bad mood show. “Morning. How’re you feeling?” you ask.

Sam shrugs a little and his gaze wanders to the digital clock on the nightstand. You have no idea what time it is or how much you’ve slept. You’re lucky that your phone was plugged in when you finally fell asleep.

“Same as yesterday. Maybe a little bit more tired. Where are we?” asks Sam.

Sitting up, you yawn and stretch your arms above your head, then roll your shoulders and neck to try and release some tension.

“Ohio,” you tell him. You roll over to grab your phone and check the time—it’s after eight, and you’ve missed half a dozen texts from Dean. None of them are useful. “We’ve only got one more day of driving if I can go straight through. It’s about twelve hours.”

“We can take shifts.”

You look over your shoulder and fix him with a look, raising your eyebrows. He doesn’t react and you stand, then toss your phone onto the bed as you pull your socks back on your feet.

“I’m not letting you drive, Sam.”

“I can do it. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not risking it,” you say, shaking your head. “I can’t risk it.”

“You can’t? Or you won’t?”

You falter as you rummage through your backpack for your last set of clean clothes. Sam is staring at you from the bathroom doorway, you can feel it, but you don’t look up at him. After a second, you slowly go back to searching.

“Does it matter?” you finally ask.

He shuffles toward you and grabs your wrist, stopping you. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t move. Reluctantly, you look up and meet his eyes. They’re just as resigned as yesterday, and though it makes your chest ache, you can’t look away.

“If I only have a week—”

“You don’t know that, Rowena cast that spell—”

“—then I want to spend it with you,” Sam finishes, and you peter out, not even bothering to finish your claim that Dean will be able to find something to save him. You know it’s not worth it, not if Sam’s made up his mind.

He continues, “I want to spend it doing all the things I love doing with you. You’re my best friend, Y/N.”

You close your eyes and turn away, hoping he doesn’t see the tear that slips out and runs down your cheek. You hate this. You’ve never felt this helpless before, not even when you’d been held captive for a week. In that situation, you’d known that the boys would find you and save you. You have no way of helping Sam out of this.

“I want…” Sam trails off, and he tugs on your wrist to pull you into a hug. You wrap your arms tightly around him and press the side of your face against him, keeping your eyes closed.

I wish it was me, you think. I wish it was me instead of him.

“What are you thinking?” Sam whispers. His breath ruffles the hair on the top of your head.

“This is all my fault,” you reply. You can’t tell him what you’re really thinking without him lecturing you, so you pick the next best option. It’s really not that much better, if you’re being honest.

“Don’t say that,” he says. He squeezes you once. “This isn’t your fault. It’s not anybody’s fault.”

“Sam—”

“No, I love you, and I’m not going to let you beat yourself up over this. It’s not your fault, Y/N. Okay?”

You nod. “Okay,” you quietly answer. It hurts to hear that Sam loves you. You know that he does—he’s your best friend, of course he loves you—but it hurts to know that he’ll never love you the way that you love him. He doesn’t have time to love you that way.

“I love you too,” you say after a moment. “I don’t…”

I have to tell him, you think. You start to pull away. Sam drops his arms, and he sits down as soon as he’s not touching you. The way he lowers himself to the edge of the mattress reminds you of some of the people you’ve seen in nursing homes while interviewing family members.

I can’t do this. He’ll just feel guilty.

“You don’t what?” Sam asks, and you look away.

“Never mind. I should get dressed,” you tell him. You turn back to the backpack and grab the clothes, then start heading to the bathroom with your clothes crumpled against your stomach.

Sam reaches out with one hand and grabs your arm. “Talk to me.”

“Sam…”

“Please. I don’t want you to hide things from me because you think it’ll make me feel even worse. Trust me”—he lets out a wry laugh—“dying is the least of my worries right now.”

You freeze halfway to the bathroom, dropping your arms down to your side with your clothes clutched in one hand. After a second, you turn to face Sam, and you toss your clean clothes onto the bed behind him.

“That really doesn’t make this situation better,” you scoff. “I mean, come on, Sam! I’m about to lose the love of my life and he says that he’s not even worried about it? How’s that supposed to make me feel? Am I just supposed to be all, ‘Oh, okay! Let me tell you all about how I’ve had a massive crush on you—”

You stop talking the second you realize what you’re saying, which is much too late, and you snap your mouth shut. Sam stares at you with wide eyes and you stare back. Your heart is in your throat and when you finally feel embarrassed tears burning along your waterline, you turn around, clenching your hands into fists.

Of all times for me to say that, you think, and you wish you could hide in the bathroom for the rest of the day.

“I’m gonna shower,” you manage to say. You take a step, then another, until finally, you’re locking the bathroom door behind yourself.

Bracing your hands on the counter, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Your heart is pounding inside your chest as your brain helpfully provides you with every possible outcome of the situation. None of them seem good. It should feel good to reveal the secret you’ve been holding so closely for years, but instead it’s only made you feel worse. On top of everything that Sam’s feeling and going through, he now has to deal with the news that you’re the biggest idiot on the planet. What kind of sappy Hallmark movie do you think you’re in? A hunter’s life doesn’t allow for love, let alone for a relationship with your hunting partner-slash-best friend.

A knock at the door startles you, and you quickly straighten up from the sink.

“Yeah?” Your voice is shakier than you’d like. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Can I come in?” Sam asks. He jiggles the doorknob.

“Um..” Your voice trembles again and you inhale deeply through your nose as you open your eyes and look around. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror; your eyes are bloodshot and your hair is a rat’s nest. The neckline of the old t-shirt you’ve been wearing since yesterday morning is stretched out and gaping, revealing a fading scar from a werewolf three weeks ago.

“You can say no,” Sam adds. “I can wait out here for you.”

Reaching out with one hand, you twist the doorknob and open the door. Sam has one hand against the door frame to help keep himself upright. Somehow he looks even worse than when you’d been by the bed just a minute before.

It’s probably just the lighting. He can’t be dying that quickly, right?

He doesn’t speak right away, so you step back into the bathroom and pull back the shower curtain, getting ready to start your shower.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I reacted to that poorly.”

“I didn’t mean to say all that,” you quietly admit, stopping just past the end of the counter. You don’t dare look up at him right now. Instead, you look down at a yellowed stain on the edge, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. “It’s not fair of me to tell you and then run away, especially since it’s too late.”

He leans forward, slowly entering the bathroom so you have time to back away. You don’t.

“Who says it’s too late? I know it’s not ideal, but I did say that I wanted to spend my time with you.”

You shake your head, pressing your lips together as the new wave tears that have been forming finally escape. With one hand, you wipe them away and press your lips together. Sam pulls you into another hug.

“This is my worst nightmare,” you tell him. “I didn’t even know it was, but it is.”

“What? Spending time with me?”

A half-hearted laugh escapes you, and you blink your eyes a few times to try and clear the blurriness. “Don’t make me laugh.”

Sam kisses the top of your head and squeezes you once before dropping his arms so you can step away. Before you get too far, however, he reaches out to stop you.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he says, and you look back at him.

The bathroom is tiny. It’s barely big enough for a sink, toilet, and bathtub-shower combo, but it feels miniscule once Sam steps inside. He’s taking up the space between the wall and the sink, leaving you to stand with your back to the shower and both the toilet and the wall within fingertip distance.

“Finish what?” you ask. Your heart skips a beat and your mind begins to jump to conclusions. What could Sam possibly have to finish that involves you? He’s not about to confess his undying love for you, right? That would be too cheesy, and too predictable for a hunter’s life. You don’t deserve that kind of happy ending.

Then again, it’s not so happy if he dies right after. You push that thought away immediately and try to focus solely on Sam.

He takes both of your hands in his, and though he sways a little, he stays upright. You try not to think about how his grip seems less firm than it has in the past.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I know,” you reply. “I love you too. And it’s okay if you don’t love me the same way. You don’t have to pretend to try and make me feel better. I’m not offended.”

Sam shakes his head and lifts your hands a little. “I love you, Y/N. I—” He stops to cough, a deep, bone-shaking, chest-rattling cough that forces him to lean against the wall on his left. He has to drop your hands to steady himself and cover his mouth, but you step closer and place one on his shoulder, hoping it’s enough to let him know that you’re there. When he drops his hand from his mouth, there’s blood on the side of his fist. Without a word, you tear off a piece of toilet paper so he can wipe it away.

“I’ve always loved you,” Sam manages after a few moments. He wheezes a little, and clears his throat to try and get rid of the raspiness left by his coughing fit.

“What?”

“I’ve—”

You quickly shake your head. “No, I heard you. I just don’t understand.”

He frowns at you, and you glance away, hating that you’re making this difficult for him. He’s balled up the bloody scrap of toilet paper in one hand, but he pushes himself off the wall and drops it into the trash can next to the sink. Without the support, Sam wobbles, and you reach out to catch him before he can fall forwards.

“You should sit,” you urge, and he shakes his head again.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Sam. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I’m not going to fall over. There’s no place to fall in here.”

“You could hit your head on the edge of the counter, or you could knock me over and we could both fall into the bathtub,” you argue. “You could land face-first on the toilet which sounds like a horrible way to be knocked unconscious. You could fall backwards and I wouldn’t have the chance to catch—”

You’re cut off when Sam slides one hand up to cup your jaw back with one hand, then tilt your head back to kiss you. He moves quicker than you’ve seen him move in since the curse, and you’re so shocked that it takes you a second to process what’s happening.

Sam Winchester is kissing me, you think, and you let your eyes fall closed when his fingers shift, weaving into your hair as he crowds infinitesimally closer to you.

When he finally parts, pulling away just enough to catch his breath, you stay close, too. You can feel his chest heave a little as he breathes, and though it pains you to think that every time you kiss him from now on will be more and more difficult for him, you push those thoughts away. You want to savor this. You need to savor this.

“Sam,” you whisper, and he hums, then kisses you again. It’s shorter this time, and your hands migrate to fist in the loose fabric of the t-shirt at his sides.

“You kissed me,” you say the next time he pauses to breathe. He hums again and gives you another kiss.

“Sam,” you insist, and he gives an impatient sigh. His hand moves to rest on your upper arm. The side of your face feels suddenly cooler in his absence.

Sam opens his eyes to look at you, and you pause for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. You’ve always loved the way Sam looks—you’d be crazy not to—but it’s the first time you’ve felt it’s okay to unabashedly take in the brilliance of his eyes. Sam is beautiful, but he’s also intelligent, funny, caring, strong, and brave. You can see all of that just by looking at him. Maybe it’s a testament to how well you know him, or maybe he’s just that beautiful.

Both, you think. The thought makes you grin, and you duck your head to try and hide it. It’s definitely both.

“What?” Sam asks, impatience clear, though he’s not angry. “What’s so important that I had to stop kissing you?”

“You kissed me!”

“I know,” he answers. He leans into your space a little more. “I’d like to do it again.”

There’s heat in your cheeks now. It’s hard to tell if it’s from how he’s making you feel or if it’s from his proximity, but you’re not complaining about either of those things.

“Why?”

He gives you a look, one that asks if you’re serious, but you don’t rescind the question. Finally, Sam drops his hand from your arm to your hand, and he fiddles with your fingers as he answers,

“Because I love you, Y/N. I’m not sure how much clearer I can be.”

You gape at him. “So when you said that you’ve always loved me…”

“I meant it.”

Your brain is whirling as you process the new information, and Sam moves to sit on the edge of the counter. He still has your hand, so he pulls you with him. You let him lead you the few steps without a fight.

“So you…” You lick your lips, and you swear that he zeroes in on the movement because his eyes seem to grow darker despite the bright white light from the fixture in the ceiling. “You like-like me?”

Sam’s eyes lift from your lips to meet your gaze. He stares at you a second, then grins wide and lets out a loud laugh. It’s almost a guffaw, and it makes the heat flare up in your cheeks all over again. You feel silly, like you’re a teenager all over again, just waiting for the cute boy in class to make you swoon.

“Like-like you?” he asks. “Definitely.”

He pulls you close again, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. His legs bracket you on either side. You close your eyes and revel in his warmth and the scent of laundry detergent and the motel shampoo that somehow always smells better on him than it does you. It’s something you’ve come to associate with him, oddly enough, but you’re grateful. Motel shampoo is a constant in your life and it will always be there, even if he’s not.

Sam sways a little bit, leaning a bit more on you, and you open your eyes, moving your head back slightly so you can look at him. His head has lolled to the side and his mouth is parted slightly. His eyes are closed, but his eyelashes flutter as if he’s just asleep.

“Sam?” you ask. He doesn’t respond, and panic replaces the giddiness you’d felt only moments before. “Sam? Hey, wake up for me. Open your eyes.”

You unwind one arm from around him, pulling it towards your stomach and out from under his arm that’s still around you. You pat his cheek a little and look for any reaction, but there isn’t any.

Cursing, you try to maneuver him off the counter to the floor. It takes all your strength to keep him from collapsing or hitting anything on the way down. By the time you get him stretched out on the grimy tile and the towel that you pull from the bar on the wall to cushion his head, you’re sweating.

“Please wake up,” you plead, kneeling on his left, near shoulder. His breathing is steady, but he’s just as comatose as he was before.

After a few moments, you launch yourself up and out of the bathroom. Your phone is still plugged in on the nightstand, so you grab it and frantically dial Dean’s number as you hurry back to the bathroom. Sam’s still out when you get back, and you crouch between him and the wall as you listen to the line ring over and over again. Finally, Dean answers.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Something happened, we were just—” You stop for a second, wondering if you should admit what you’d been doing, but Dean beats you to it.

“You were what, Y/N? What happened?” He’s shouting into the phone as he drives and you swallow thickly as tears burn in your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did,” you choke out. “This is all my fault.”

“What the hell did you do?”

“Nothing! I mean, I kissed him! He kissed me first, and it seemed like he was alright, but then we were just talking and he gave me a hug and then he just passed out!”

Dean curses and you flinch at the volume, pulling the phone a few inches away from your ear. You’re on the verge of actually sobbing now, and you suck in a deep breath to try and stabilize yourself. Any sense of calm you’d felt less than a few minutes ago has completely vanished.

“He’s still breathing normally and I made sure he didn’t bump his head or anything—”

“You’re supposed to be taking care of him!” Dean shouts. “Where are you?”

“Ohio. At the Starlight Motel, off of I-71. We passed it on the way out to Boston.”

“I remember. I’m on my way.”

You can hear a turn signal on his end of the call and you set your phone on the floor, putting it on speaker. Judging by the noise in the background, he’s pulling off the road to turn around and head in your direction. After swallowing a few times, the lump in your throat begins to subside and you feel yourself starting to calm.

“How far away are you?” you ask, trying to focus on the steady sound of Sam’s breathing while at the same time listening for his response.

Dean answers, but you don’t hear it because Sam suddenly gasps for air. His eyes fly open as his chest heaves, and he coughs like he’s been suffocated. You shift onto your knees, lean forward, and quickly help him roll onto his side. He pushes you away with one hand as he props himself up with an elbow and continues to cough. You’re flustered and panicked, and your hands hover over his arm as you try to figure out how to help him further.

“Easy,” you soothe, and he takes another deep breath, followed by a few lighter coughs. There’s no blood this time, which is a welcome relief.

“I’m okay,” he wheezes.

Still propped up on his left side, Sam closes his eyes. He breathes in and out slowly, steadying himself. After several seconds, the hand not bracing himself against the floor searches until it finds yours. He squeezes it once and you squeeze back, watching him intently.

“How are you feeling? Are you in pain?” you question.

He rolls backwards until he’s flat on his back again, but he keeps hold of your hand, resting it on his stomach. He breathes for another few moments before opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling.

“Sam?”

“Y/N! Damnit, what’s going on over there?” Dean is shouting from the phone, and you realize that you’ve forgotten all about it. With your free hand, you scramble to grab it and pull it to your ear, taking the call off speaker with a singular jab of your thumb.

“He’s awake,” you tell him, feeling pretty breathless yourself. Your heart is still racing from the scare of Sam lurching into consciousness. “He’s okay. He’s alright.”

“He’s— He’s okay okay, or just okay?” Dean asks.

You look back at Sam, who lets go of your hand and pushes himself up into a sitting position. When he sees you watching him, he reaches for the phone.

“Hey, Dean,” he says, and he listens for a second before answering, “I’m fine. I think it’s gone.” He glances over at you while Dean replies, probably with more questions. “No, I’m not sure what it was, but I feel fine. Y/N and I will try to figure out what it was, and I’ll give Rowena a call, see if she can meet us here. How far away are you?”

“Tell him I’ll text him the address,” you interject, and Sam nods, relaying the message. He listens for a few moments longer, glances at you again, and then tilts his head away to try and hide his smile.

“Jerk,” he says. He smiles wider at Dean’s response. You don’t have to hear it to know what he says.

Sam hangs up a second later and hands the phone back to you. Without saying anything, you text the address to Dean, then slip the phone back into your pocket.

“Are you really feeling okay?” you ask.

He nods. “I think the curse, whatever it was, is gone. I don’t feel tired, and I’m not even stiff from laying down all day yesterday. Do I look any better?”

You search his face, looking for any sign of fatigue. The color has returned to his face, and the strange thinness that had made your stomach turn this morning is gone. He looks like he did just a few days ago when you’d made up in the library. Even his muscle mass has miraculously returned.

“You look a lot better,” you tell him, beginning to smile. “Like nothing even happened.”

Sam smiles back at you, as radiant as the sun, and you find yourself falling into his arms. He wraps them around you, but after a second he pulls away to look you in the eyes.

“I love you,” he says. “I know I said it before, but I mean it.”

Still smiling, you push his hair out of his eyes, cupping his face with one hand. “I know. I love you too.”

He kisses you then, like he did before, and your heart swells. You sit back on your feet as Sam leans into you. He smiles into the kiss when your free hand skims the length of his arm.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” you murmur once you’ve caught your breath. “Okay?”

He nods, his forehead resting against yours. “Okay.”

You close your eyes, reveling in the feeling of him being so close. The two of you sit in silence on the bathroom floor. All the events of the past few days have worn you out, even with the few hours of sleep you got, and you eventually shift to rest your head against Sam’s shoulder. He reaches over with his right hand, rubbing your back in long, soothing strokes. You hold his other hand, the one he’d been using to prop himself up.

The silence is broken by your phone ringing after a few minutes. Sighing, you pull away and answer the call on speakerphone, setting it on the floor.

“I hear that Samuel’s on the mend,” Rowena says in lieu of greeting.

“I’m cured,” Sam answers. “Or at least we think I am.”

She hums in acknowledgement. “I’ll need more detail than that if you want me to tell you for sure. I may be powerful, but I’m not a mind reader.”

You roll your eyes at the haughtiness in her voice and reply, “He was unconscious for at least two minutes, but there was nothing leading up to it. He just passed out.”

“Did you eat or drink anything? Say any spells? Pray any prayers?”

Sam stares at the phone, his eyebrows furrowed together. “No. We were just talking and then—” He stops.

“And then you what?” Rowena prompts.

Sam’s eyes flicker from the screen to your face, and then he lets out a quiet chuckle. He’s smiling again, and you smile back. It’s contagious, despite the fact that you have no idea why he’s smiling.

“We kissed,” Sam tells her, not looking away.

“I see.” Her arrogance has all but disappeared, and you know her just well enough to picture the sly smile forming on her face. “When it’s reciprocated by both, true love’s kiss is a very powerful form of magic. It’s one of the most powerful forms of magic. Wield it wisely, you two.”

You grin. “We will.”

She ends the call and you leave the phone on the floor, opting instead to lean in and kiss Sam again.

“We definitely will,” he says.

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hobiespick · 3 months ago

Note

Heya! I was wondering if you got any headcanons for Sam Winchester x werewolf! Reader, except, reader can actually turn whenever she (or gn if you want) wants, and the only real thing a full moon does is force her to be in her werewolf form (aka force her to keep the wolf teeth and claws out for no reason)

The thing that should not be

Pairings : Sam Winchester x reader

a/n : FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, HI, HELLO, IM SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG I SUCK SO BAD, IM SO SORRY. My requests aren't open (yet) but its not even your fault I should have 100% specified that, but this is my first ever ask and ur also one of my favourite moots and I didn't want to dissapoint so here are some fuckinf cute Sam x Werewolf!Reader. I felt the carnal need to write a metric fuckton of context before getting into the actual headcanons (which are very long I have no idea if they can be considered as hcs) so the reader gets beaten up by earth-shattering plot purposes :3. Sammy juicy headcanons start when you see the '🧿' emoji if you don't wanna read the context (melodramatic sigh). And yes the title of the fic is based on the metallica song :). as always, enjoy my shitty thoughts <3

Warnings: angst with comfort (no don't clap it's fine, omg ur makin me blush); guess who joined the cool kids club and uses "____." instead of "Y/n"; literally a flash of gore, shitty dad(s), fake death, mentions of suicide, Sam looks at you and goes DO YOU WANT M-; Dean being himself; reader is also a hunter and has been raised like that (fml); Dean makes a twillight refrence; reader is frankenstein coded in the most nuanced way, Mary Shelley please don't haunt me; Dean is very happy to have a bestfriend/sister :)

word count: 8,102

- Okay, so for starters, the fact that you aren't actually a monster (you don't get the urge to kill or wreak havoc) is actually a supernatural miracle.

Your parents haven't talked to you since you called them the night you were hunting a werewolf and told them, horror-struck between sniffles and voice cracks, that it bit you, and you’re going to turn, and you’re horrified, and you’re going to drive home to put a pistol in your father's hand and hopefully stop you from turning in the thing you shouldn't be.

Your father replied, after successfully not saying a word besides "Hey, kid-" before getting cut off by you and your hiccups. He sank his teeth into the inside of his cheek, enough to draw blood.

"You are not to come home; your mother won't bear to see you like this."

Your father objected before telling you you can finish the job by yourself; you always have.

He abruptly ended the phonecall like you weren't his daughter, more like an annoying salesman. You don't know what he'll say to your mother after that call; that was the hospital, and you tragically died? "Died a hero.." Your father would say when he described another hunter's tragic passing at the dinner table—paranormal tragic passing. So paranormal that your mother had knocked on wood and prayed it wouldn't get you or your family.

So you don't call, It's really me, dad. I'm fine, I figured it out by myself. How could you? after him suggesting it's better to kill yourself than take a shot at finding a solution together? You would rather have him believe you're dead. Or at least cry with you; it's okay, honey. come home; it'll be okay, spend the last days at home, please-

The last word you get from him is a text message you are too quick to open on your flip-phone to see the next day. When you rub at your eyebags after tracking down a witch, the witch. It was the second day when everything about you felt off; you were squemish, anxious, and haven't left your motel room all day. if you get this—the message read, "if you get this?!" if you get this, if you get this, if you get this—your brain repeats it over and over, taking the words apart and tattooing itself that phrase, because it held much more meaning to it than your father probably didn't intend; he would hear it if he read it before sending, you thought, that little 'if' haunting and tormenting like a damn demon. if you haven't already killed yourself; if you haven't already turned into something that took my daughter, my pride and joy, away from me; if you haven't already died–

- speaking to you like he's directly referring to the disease in your veins. Your brain moves on and reads the next ridiculous waste of your attention. I wanted you to know I told your mother that it was the hospital I was talking to yesterday, calling that you’re dead, house fire, so no remains to pick up—Damn, you know him or what? Even your fake death is stripped away from it's respect—"no remains to pick up"—like a toppled statue, a monument of what was once a hero (in dad's old-fashioned monster-hunting world), shattered and insignificant, no longer breathing or living, if you ever even had. Or a tree struck by lighting, again, "no remains to pick up" no meaningful remains or genuinely nothing, just a memory of another young hunter who died 'tragically'. You could imagine your tombstone with an even dumber epitaph to match it and an empty or nonexistent grave lying six feet underneath for closure. Your eyes move on, there will be a funeral with no grave, of course, I just wanted you to know that your mother and everyone else is devastated, we miss you, sugar. I love you, kid. Your father had overestimated your suicidal tendencies, and the way he didn't try to save his daughter in order to not go against the rules and possibilities of hunting only showed you how much he loves you.

So you track down the witch. You barely make it to her doorstep when she opens it with a too reassuring smile, saying your name and that she expected you, even going as far as offering you tea after opening the door and letting you in, to which you declined. You're not an idiot. But you do sit down, forced, when she, Willow Thorne, won't have you, a guest, standing up, a whole damn hunter being forced to sit down and accept being treated kindly like you deserve. When you walked in, the entire image of a satanic worshipper who sold her soul to demons and hexed everybody—that you betted all your life savings fitted the description of Willow shattered and laughed in your face.

Her home was filled with plants hanging and resting in every corner she could place; various crystals were sitting in cute porcelain plates like candy, candles of different colors on a bookshelf filled with books like The Language of Flowers, Astronomy for Beginners, and Sigils. Even more crystals, bigger and taller ones on a purple tablecloth. The house is adorned in shades of dark purple, violet, green, and warm colors. This home was a whimsigothic musem that would send your thirteen-year-old self into a shrieking, excited mess. Your parents never let you own crystals or a tarot deck; they were too afraid you'd turn darkside one way or another. well, mommy, daddy, if you could see me right now with lycanthrope blood pumping through my veins.

Willow Thorne is a wiccan type of witch; she does not receive her power from demons; she receives her magic from nature and probably practices her witchcraft the way she sees fit. This doesn't help build back the distrust you were trained to have in her. You flinch when you feel a tail curling around your bouncing leg; you glance down, and your eyes are met with a black cat's green ones—this must be her familiar—the little words on his purple collar reading 'Creek'. She gives you another flash of her warm smile and starts talking about her cat. This can't be real. Your every instinct screams that you should take her down or that she will take you down. Your options shrink the longer you stay. You keep a hand anxiously fiddling with your belt, thinking about the gun in your waistband. She's deceiving you with honeyed words and unassuming appearance; who the fuck knows, maybe the cat is manipulating you too. Throwing up would be the calmest reaction you could have right now, because the thoughts in your head started going at each other's throats and doubting in this situation could get you killed. Thoughts like, fuck her, her cozy house with purple witchy twitchy girl interior, and her affectionate black cat she mentioned she rescued when nobody would because of superstitions—you curse in your head, you're not actually upset at her although you do not let your guard down, you're upset at yourself for being so easily coaxed into trusting her, it's all too easy, and it is intimidating you.

You're pretty sure you're gonna rip your vocal cords out of frustration and an overall feeling of overwhelmingness; everything seems to piss you off today, even more than usual. How are you good?! All bright and beaming with nothing but positivity. You're not supposed to be good! I have believed all my life you aren't!..are you like me too? A thing that should not be? Before breaking down and crying about your situation, and if you did, she would make you that tea and rub your back with her hand that radiated ease and made you slump your shoulders with relief.

Before you get other fun thoughts like Am I on the wrong side of the war? You start discussing bussiness since you forgot that's what your here for. Even if your eyes water like a little kid after being scolded for something they didn't do, your voice is nowhere near close to sounding like one. You demand a cure, bargaining for a deal to stop the lycanthropy metamorphosis you feel taking over little by little and make you human again. If she can't, you have a gun with silver bullets in your trunk and your will written out, but by now it probably has no significance.

Much to your disappointment, she—Willow—insisted you called her, tells you she cannot take away your curse, but she can soothe it a little, keep it in a cage locked deep into your subconscious. In exchange, she could ask for fucking anything in the world, but she wants loyalty.

"Define, loyalty." You ask through gritted teeth, yeah, that will stop the tears, definitely, great intimidation skills, _____ .

"I'm talking about respect, mutual aid, when it all comes down for me, when I get threatened by a hunter, I want you to be there. I need you to have my back." She admitted, studying your eyes trying to reslove the conflict in them, anything that could give her hope. You couldn't explain this to anyone, ever, Yeah I almost turned into a werewolf once but my witch friend did a ritual on me, so i'm all good now.

Willow is now sitting on an ottoman facing her couch, where you're sitting. Her hands fidget with her bracelets until she clasps them together, and she is leaning towards you. Her gentle tone is imbued with gentle authority that commands her mutual respect without making her overbearing. Keeping steady eye contact, she is discussing serious matters with a serious tone like she should. You can't lie, it catches you off-guard, it herds you in the corner and softly shakes your shoulders, forcing you to listen.

You'd be every synonym in the dictionary for the word 'idiot' if you hadn't accepted this deal. You shake hands, and the warm smile she wears causes a domino effect, making you do the same, even if you had been crying.

It's a funky ritual. She makes you lay on the couch while she lights all sorts of candles; she closes the curtains even though it's already dark so light cannot come in. The only light present is the salt lamp in the far corner and the numeruous lighted candles. She even has to kick Creek out of the room, much to the cat's protests outside the door. They slowly come to a stop as he finds something that's more interesting than whatever ritual his owner is cooking up with a guest—that he feels drawn to for whatever reason. You feel nervous, and she feels nervous too, because you are. Willow reassures you and tells you that after it ends you will pass out for a while, but that's fine because she says you can spend the night if she isn't pushing it.

The celling becomes your newest fascination, and you study every small bump and gray spot in order to distract your mind from... well, thinking. Not for the ritual, but for reassurance, she lies and says you have to hold her hand. Her warm hand against yours seems to punch out of your lungs every doubt whether this will work or not and the sadness your father produced with an unfatherly amount of bluntness and cold parenting that was the verbal equivalent of stabbing your spine and twisting the knife, but you can't pull out the knife, well, you can try, but it will hurt even worse and it will infect spreading yellow or purple marks around it–. She—her hand—has the ability to make you breathe again without feeling like you have leg irons around your neck dragging it down and hands squashing your lungs to bits. She speaks incantations in what you know is latin and instructs you to close your eyes. You swear you hear a candle stop burning in the process—something you can't physically hear, but you had. You can make out a few words (your ears keep ringing and something is happening because you hear her voice; it's distorted and weird, but she told you, strictly, not to open your eyes, so you don't). Words like: lupus-wolf, tollere-take away? You're not sure on that one; that's what three straight days of crying might do to one, mutare- which means change. Okay, that was a nice distraction now what el–

You feel the imprint of a huge dog-like paw pressing into your Adam's apple and cutting off your breath. She obviously takes notice by the way you're writhing and choking and swatting away at nothing—something you're trying to fight even with closed eyes, but there is nothing there. Your palm doesn't make contact with anything. Quickly, Willow chants something you're too busy choking to catch. The pressure on your throat dissolves, and you can breathe again. She calms her own breath and squeezes your hand. When she doesn't feel you squeeze back, she remembers that you're supposed to pass out after the spell. Willow drapes a blanket on you and goes off to order something to eat. When she opens the living room door, Creek doesn't hesitate to run in and settle on your chest. The cat purrs as he patiently waits for you to wake up.

You wake up fifteen minutes later with the smell of food flooding your nostrils, stronger than it has ever been before. It's almost like it's sitting right under your nose. You open your eyes, and the smell has a color, and you can clearly see how it snakes its way in from the kitchen into the half-open door. Your nails feel heavier than usual. This is hopefully a fever dream. But the food isn't here, nor is Willow; you can hear her humming a song in the kitchen, Voodoo Chile by Jimi Hendrix.

The weight of the shadow on your chest brings you back to earth, and you run your hands through his black fur with closed eyes as your head falls back onto the couch. The feeling of fur on your fingertips feeding to your serotonin levels rising. Creek seems to know what it's like to be disowned by your own father and forced to have a fake death in order to 'die' in a way that won't make your mother think you were cursed, or worse, that the whole family is now. Creek notices you're awake and gets off you, but not before making biscuits.

"Thanks, Creek." You mumble before pushing yourself up in a sitting position with a groan.

You can feel the rich, velvety, dark green rug beneath your socks; you would have appreciated it properly if you could actually see the details woven into it. Your eyes keep focusing and unfocusing like they're getting adjusted, and the room doesn't seem so dark anymore. God, how long did you pass out? As you tried to gather your thoughts (if the spell was easy on you enough to actually leave some), memories of the ritual came flooding back—the chanting in latin, the flickering candle(s), the punching smell of herbs, the murder attempt from a wolf spirit/ghost?! who the hell knows anymore? Now you were wide awake, and everything felt different. If it weren't for the fucking ritual that was just performed on you, you would've blamed the faint ringing in your years, shitty eyesight, and banging headache on a terrible hangover or a cold so bad it would make your throat ache for the tea your mom would make you when your immune system failed you. She promised she would teach me how to make it. Your grief echoed to you.

You rub at your temples at thats when you notice why did your nails feel heavier than usual. You had fucking claws, well, not animal claws, but they are honorably elongated and sharper than they had ever been. As you looked up from your lap, your eyes fell on a mirror.

A tall mirror leaning on its back legs, with black edges and details on the rim, you would again appreciate if you had the ability to see a single thing in the distance.

Your eyes widened, mortified, seeing yourself. It looked like one of your parents's worst nightmares. Something out of a dream your mom would have—a nightmare so nasty and vivid she would be forced by her paranoia to get up and check that you're still in bed sleeping soundly.

Your eyes were no longer the familiar color you have seen in the mirror or in old photos of your family members you've grown to love. The shade wasn't even close to yours; crazy how one small change made such a big difference in your appearance. Your pupils were slitted vertically, shrinking only to dilate a little once again, getting adjusted. You slowly got up on foal legs and fell on your knees in front of the mirror. Even if you didn't think it was night because you weren't seeing darkness, the light of the moon shone down on the mirror and floor thanks to the now open curtains. That's when your vision stopped unfocusing and finally cleared.

You were now looking at yourself. It felt incredibly alien and familiar at the same time; you looked at yourself every day, whether it was the mirror in your bathroom at home, a crappy motel one that faced the bed (which you cover up with a scoff each time), or a reflection in the car of your vanity mirror checking yourself before going in a precinct, pretending to be a reporter (the things middle-aged pigs would confess to a doe-eyed girl from the press..).

You gently pulled the corner of your upper lip only to reveal your enlarged and sharpened front canines. Your hand fell and instead went to cover your mouth in order to muffle your sobs. You must have done a horrible job because the second you slapped the hand over your mouth, you heard Willlow gasp as if she felt it too.

She drops the food she was unpacking and runs in, taking a moment to calm her heaving chest in the doorway; her hands were holding it like an earthquake had shaked her up; even her round glasses had slipped and rested on the tip of her nose.

"_______, you woke up!" she exclaims cheerfully. "I was just—how do you fee-?"

She kept stuttering and cutting herself off. Willow didn't need to say anything else; she saw the tears welling up in your eyes and felt the same shock you did from the kitchen.

🧿🧿🧿- later on, you have to bump into the Winchesters one way or another

- and it's exactly on a full moon when this time the ball isn't in your court and you don't get to decide whether you turn or not.

- your claws are sharp, your eyes have changed their original color completely with your pupils vertically slit, and your teeth (conveniently) remain the same; only a few of your front canines are enlarged and sharpened.

- as for senses, it's downright spectacular.

- you can hear deer stepping on tree branches, foxes running, and owls hooting when you're driving by the forest

- you smell how many people are in a room

- you have night vision (yes, your eyes to the flashy thingamajiggy when someone blinds you with their flashlight).

- as a hunter, you already know that your claws and fangs can rip out a human heart.

- ironically, as this whole situation is, you hunt alone on the principle that you don't long for companionship as some lycanthropes do.

- you've turned into a literal killing machine with no instinct to kill, so hunting with others is off the table since at the first sign of a threat (they think you are one, but you really aren't), a hunter exterminates.

- you meet the Winchesters on a ghoul hunt

- you have taken the case before them, but when you couldn't get anywhere with identifying whatever evil being was tormenting the locals with their mere presence, you thought about ditching it since it doesn't look like your type of thing and took the consideration that maybe humans were fucking around this time.

- so when you heard the FBI are in town investigating the case (detective Page and Plant), you placed that town in your rear view mirror; they got it covered..right?

- but something didn't feel right- it wasn't the shame of leaving a case with your tail between your legs (pun intended) with the weak motive, 'Maybe humans are really fucking around this time.'

- something wasn't right, so even if you were tired, you abruptly stopped the car and went over your research spread out on the flat of your closed trunk

- the slits of your eyes dance over the words on your laptop, your papers, and an old lore book you fought tooth and nail for. When you realized it's a ghoul you're dealing with, you turned the car around and went over every speed limit like hellhounds were scratching at your tires. It was your job to not let anybody else get hurt or someone else's grave be violated

- as the light of the moon shined down on you and your wild eyes looked back at you from the rear view mirror, you knew you couldn't have anyone see you, you had to be invisible

- *time skip* (as much as it pains me 'cause i am a sucker for details :))- you swoop in time to save the Winchesters

- and if they weren't tied up, they would've started fighting you too, because why was there a whole ass werewolf fist fighting a ghoul?? John trained them like Spartan warriors, but nothing prepared them for something like this.

- so they sit there like:??????

- they watch you take out a fucking ghoul all by yourself

- the head of the ghoul's person they're impersonating rolls onto the floor. You have to remind yourself it's not a real person; it's an evil spirit who kills to feed

- by the time you wipe the blood off your face, smearing it a bit in the process, and cut the ties holding the hunters loose, Sam is unnable to look away from your slit eyes adorned by a strange color that strangely suits you

- literally hearts in his fawn brown eyes like you still don't have blood on your face and you aren't trying to catch your breath; also, you took a nasty punch to your cheek, and he's pretty sure it's gonna leave a bruise, but he totally doesn't care, why? why do you ask?

- by the way Sam is scrunitizing you, and oh yeah, Sam is scrunitizing you, you're sure you're gonna have to ditch since you've been in this situation before and you know how it always ends

- there was no 'explaining yourself' to hunters when they saw you under the full moon or when they saw you change because you had to.

Before you can even open your mouth they have their methaphorical pitchforks sharpened and torches lit up, prepared to slaughter you, and if you're honest, you can't even blame them for it because you would've done the same.

- Dean rubs his wrist with his right hand; the imprint of the rope is still fresh on his skin like a tattoo. Sam focuses on not choking when you catch him staring.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean thinks out loud. You take a big lungs-exploding sigh and give a shot at introducing yourself since they seem more civilized than most hunters are

- Sam geeks out about you

He doesn't question you because he is suspicious (he has the right to be but surprisingly isn't). He has to feed his noisy, information-hungry brain or he will spontaneously combust

- "Are your senses even more enhanced during the full moon, or are they the same?"

- "Can you smell when somebody is afraid? Like the hormones from their pores?"

- "Is it annoying to always have super hearing? Like has it ever caused you to be..I don't know.. Anxious? It did?" He mourns over you, trying to imagine himself in your situation but possibly can't.

- "I'm really sorry you had to go through a whole..change all by yourself, but it just shows how strong you are, some don't even make it 'til the end."

- After you were done explaining to Sam (to which he gladly sat himself down and listened) how sometimes you genuinely consider you're inevitably going to become what you hunt and how in the beginning you and your senses have butted heads, how you had no idea how to go through it without having panic attacks because the click of a doorknob was sensitive to your hearing like a veteran was scared of fireworks, how you accidentally ripped a motel door off its hinges, a result of you being slightly irritated, still getting acoustumed to your abilities. Dean would go.

"..Do dog whistles work on y–" Before getting an elbow in the ribs by a glaring Sam.

- more shit Dean would ask you for the sake of his own little curiosity

- "Is 'bitch' even more offensive now?"

- "Who do you think would win in a fight? You or Jacob Black?"

- "What do I smell like? Y'know, since you can pick up on scents and alldat."

- Dean calls you Cujo

- It's the one nickname you can get behind, asking him what he thought about the book, and he's like, "Oh, I watched the movie, but i know a little. Sammy used to rattle on and on about his books when he was younger."

- if you think about it, an alais doesn't sound so bad in theory or practice while hunting.

- it's secretive, the boys don't need to divulge your real name, and it's actually high-key kickass (I literally watched Cujo just so I know what I'm talking about, a.k.a. the second reason why it took a millenium and a half for me to post these; the first reason is that i suck)

- Dean is thrilled to get to call you that- he gets this fucking smirk, like a dad about to drop the worst joke ever made on everyone, you and Sam brace yourselves for what's coming with matching eyerolls-

"Let's fuck em' up, Cujo."

- "Cujo, dude, you're just itching to raise a little hell right now, aren't you?"

- "Uh- a bacon cheeseburger, soda, yo, Cujo whaddya want? My treat >:]."

- "Cujo, put on that song you were listening to; I had it in my head the entire hunt." (I didn't mention the genre or artist bc I like to imagine Dean listening to everyone's fav category; ex. I imagine Dean screaming bikini kill lyrics whenever i'm sad)

- if you thought the 'canine/wolf' teasing stopped here, you're so painfully wrong

- Dean made you a mixtape, because that's his love language apparently, with only songs that are about werewolves

- I feel like it took him a longer time to find a suitable title than the songs themselves

- he has all of the possible picks on a piece of paper that stays in the pocket of his fifty pound leather jacket.

- the titles are: Songs to transform into; The howlin' hits; Songs that will make you wag your tail—that one is crossed out because he knows you will make him eat the tape if he does settle on it; Love at first bite; and finally the one he settled for is Songs you can sink your teeth into. Dean smiled at his work, it didn't feel like a prank anymore it was more like a gift and he didn't feel any ugly emotion or insecurity try to pull him back into not getting attached to you.

The final touch was a note saying

"Hey, Cujo, thought you might want these howlin' hits whenever you need to tune the world out.

P.S. : Sam told me to add one of the songs, it's that punk stuff you like - Dean"

- The songs he prudently picked out are these : Of Wolf and Man by Metallica; Bark at the Moon by Ozzy Osbourne; I Was A Teenage Werewolf by The Cramps; Wolf Moon by Type O Negative; Witch Wolf by STYX; Run with the Wolf by Rainbow; Lycanthropy by G.B.H and others.

- you accidentally made a kid cry once- a ball was literally flying towards you and you caught it just in time, thanks to your reflexes

- instinctively, you turned around in time and caught the ball as your claws grew and sank into the inanimate object

- it's all "Nice relfexes, _____" praise from Dean and proud and shy smiles from Sam until the owner of the ball starts sobbing in front of you

- it's a kid, a boy with red hair, no older than six years of age

- but we all know Dean's charm is basically made for this

- so he handles both the kid and his mom (flirting with a milf all day, poor Dean)

- you keep apologizing to the kid and the mom, but Dean just waves you off; you don't understand his generosity until Sam tells you that you accidentally secured Dean's hookup for tonight.

- Since Dean is not coming, not until early morning, nor is he there to call you and Sam 'dorks', you and his younger brother take advantage of it.

- you guys have a movie night with the most random movies ever

- it is chaotic

- from rom-coms you switch to a world war II documentary, then you watch re-runs of House MD on tv.

- Dean stumbles in at like five something a.m. and takes a picture of you and Sam snuggling under a blanket while the tv light casts shadows of orange and cold colors on your defenseless expressions.

- but can somebody actually blame you? Or Sam, for that matter?

- honorably want to mention your body heat is also enhanced

- You and Sam were sitting with your sides pressed into each other

- you were radiating pure furnace body heat, how could he not be sleepy??

- but that's not the only reason Sam knocks out so heavily

- it's you he's sitting down with (relaxing for once in his life) watching a ridiculous episode of House with thirteen ads rolling every ten minutes accompanied by lazy talking as if you're not debating books only you and morally grey forty-year-olds read (where that Kansas drawl of his is much more audible and pretty), after a marathon of fatally random movies

- younger Sam who had trouble going to sleep/getting some shut-eye because Dean and John are out late on a hunt.

- Sam especially couldn't fall asleep because Dean wasn't there

- it was a different story when Dean was at the age where he couldn't hunt but he could use a pistol and take care of his little brother

- both of them in a relatively warm motel room, alone (since John fucked off to god-knows-where, to hunt a monster they are never to breathe in the direction of as a conversation subject.)

- little Sammy (age where he believed nothing could beat his older brother) could peacefully fall asleep knowing Dean stays up and watches over him like a hawke, reading comic books by the tv light

- where little Dean keeps chanting in his head what Sammy is supposed to do after eating his dinner.

- Watch tv or look at the comic with me (Sammy can't read yet), brush his teeth, then tuck him in bed.

- now pre-teen Sam can hardly sleep

- he is plagued/tormented by flashing images his overthinking big brain mades of a thousand situations where his family got hurt, if not even killed

- Sam's grip on the shotgun is shaking; it shakes even harder when John's bark booms over his shoulder, right into his ear.

- "Sammy, dammit, what are you going to do when a demon breaks through the door and me and your brother aren't there to protect you?!"

- but Sam isn't twelve anymore

- he's a responsible adult

- snuggled beside you and denying any eepy allegations you decide to accuse him of

- so, the heat you contribute, the soft speaking on the tv, the darkness of the room, you being there is enough to lull Sam to sleep

- studies show you feel sleepy around the people you trust ;)

- the position you two fell asleep in cannot be described in any other word than childish

- somehow you would catch two kids, sleeping over at one of the other's houses, knocked out, and snoring in the same bed after watching a horror movie

- on one of the two queens the motel room contributes (the one closest to the tv) you and Sam have made this fluffy nest full of pillows, a huge blanket, plus a random quilt Bobby pulled out of thin air and gave it to you when he heard you complaining about the petal-thin blankets motels have during cold ass weather.

- When you both lied down on the bed with your legs greedily streched out, backs pressed against the headboard, and your head is resting on the wall while Sam, magically, was still able to hold his up after the very long day all of you endured. You predicted one of you wouldn't survive being in each other's presence and make it out not asleep, and god, you hoped it was you.

- Sam's breathing slows down after a while of comfortable silence, and you’re sure he's dying until you spare one quick glance and see him, downright snoozing with his lips parted without a care in the world, ghosts and eerie phenomenons weren't bothering or needing him now.

- during all of the movies and documentary and fuckin lazy intellectual commentary nobody else would have the patience to discuss with you or Sam, he somehow migrated on the bed/nest with his side flush against yours, like a magnet to another; it was inevitable not to stick together, literally.

- your shoulder was now pressed into his forearm, your head no longer resting uncomfortably, and his temple is resting on the top of your head.

- but (unfortunately) you weren't hugging or anything- like a mirror or a copycat, Sam has his arms crossed, just like you, so maybe that's why you didn't wake up full on cuddling, that does sound good though your brain mourns

- When you do wake up, the only slight change you notice is that you're sleeping on your side..so is Sam. You're facing Sam's neck and chin, and up close and personal, you can actually count the too-sexy amount of moles he modestly posesses. His arm serves the role of a pillow underneath his head, and the other is resting with his palm down facing the mattress.

- with Sam taking up the entire attention of your senses, it takes an emmbarassing while for you to hear the shower running, Dean; did he see you both like this? Was he going to mention it? Your gut fills with a small dose of embarrassement, preparing you for what's yet to come, and it protests at that.

- much displeasure from your senses to your brain and your heart that wanted to breathe Sam in more as he (hopefully) breathes you out, you turn on your other side, unconsciously careful not to disturb Clifford over here, and you try to determine what time it is from your surroundings alone.

- the light blue sneaking its way through the dark closed curtains and the slight chill in the air points all arrows to seven or eight in the morning, you could go back to sleep.

- Dean wasn't just feeling gracious; he didn't and wasn't even planning on sparing you or Sam

- that day, when he separately gets the both of you alone, he has the exact same conversation with different but not so different people.

-"You should've seen the two of you this morning when I came in, two kittens snoring together, it was fuckin' adorable." Dean teased–

—Monday, 13:34 p.m. — as he tossed his clothes into one of the laundromat's washing machines, making Sam paralyze in his seat as his fingers started fidgeting with the edges of his hoodie.

"You did?.." He inquires, not knowing what exactly Dean saw just this morning. Sam only woke up a little after you went back to sleep. He swore his cheek must have burned a hole through the pillow with how hard he was blushing. You were so close. There was a good distance between the edge of the bed and you. So your back was flush against his chest. If you're wondering where his arm went, it was around your waist. Sam��your own personal seatbelt. He probably thinks it's his fault too. Dean never ceased to describe Sam as a 'cuddlebug'.

"Uh-huh" Dean hums a confirmation, acting casual, scarily casual. Sam feels the teasing in Dean's tone; it's there, but Dean is not fully teasing yet, like he wants Sam to confess something first after boiling in his embarrassement for long enough.

—Monday, 20:02 p.m. — as he pulled the Impala into the driveway of a fast-food place you were so invested in you even forgot the name of; you froze and looked at him, searching for any emotion that might give him away, but Dean was a brick wall, a slight very Dean siginificant parted lips smirk paired with squinted eyes over the wheel, carefully driving into the driveway. Even the car seemed to betray you in your moment of weakness because you swear the volume is lower than it was a few seconds ago. Ozzy Osbourne's laugh can still be heard from the speakers, even if it's barely audible over your racing thoughts or your hearing trying its hardest to pick up on Dean's thoughts. The rythym of the drums seems to sync up with your heartbeat, or the other way around, you're not sure. Over every little sound, there still seems to be a little silence to fit in. You swallow a lump in your throat.

"..We had a movie night, we just fell asleep like that, that's all." You mumble, and Dean starts to feel a little bad for letting you be a victim to his spotlight-teasing and giving you no shade to reprieve to or show his undying approval.

Somehow, you still worry if Dean believes you have ruined the dynamic, and now he's cornering you to tell you to stop it or something (overthinking anxiety worms are eating away at your critical thinking skills). You just worry about what he thinks of this. You still worry about the Dean who doesn't correct random people on cases who mistake you and Sam for a couple; the Dean who just has to leave some arsenal or luggage in the front, just so you are forced to share the backseat with Sam; the Dean who always has to group you and Sam in a category when he teases you both (Geeks, nerds, smartasses, etc.). Cupid works hard, but Dean Winchester works harder.

"Hey-, Cuj- Doll." Dean sputters, switching glances between you and the wheel.

This didn't go as he planned it would, and now he is facing the consequences. The way you shrink in your seat and the way you avoid catching his eye makes Dean feel like a douchebag. If he didn't know any better he would thinks he is, but then you would actually be able to read him like a book and tell him otherwise. You hear the desperation in his voice; your candle of hope comes back to life and lights up. Your head turns to look at him with pleading eyes. Please don't be angry, please don't kick me to the curb, let me stay in the backseat a little more. Dean lets out a shaky exhale that turns into a laugh; he runs a hand down his face. You've watched him do that every time he got jumpscared by the monthly spirit with unfinished business. It was something you imagined Dean picked up from John, the picture in your head so clear (at least from the pictures you saw)— a tired dad in an old squeaky motel chair with a whiskey glass in his hand doing the same motion Dean was doing right now. Dean would mimic his father's gestures to try to look more like him; he didn't have his brunette curly hair, his dark brown eyes, Sam did.

Dean never had his voice either; he only perfected his bark to match his dad's. Sam hated the way his reflection resembled his father, Dean was either jealous of him for it or couldn't wrap his head around as to why his brother hated being their dad, probably the latter. Dad, at least in Dean's eyes, was a hero, a figure to be admired and emulated. But Sam? He didn't even have to try. Sam and John were so alike that they clashed constantly like two stubborn stags locking antlers in a duel.

"..Dean?" You call him out; you had no idea what was going on in his head; it would be pretty damn nice if you could know. Dean shots his head up at the mention of his name.

"Yeah?—sorry, I just, you and Sam are just so—" He sighs. "it's about time you two crazy kids broke that touch barrier." He guffaws, slowly pulling up to the ordering kiosk.

A new song starts playing on Dean's "hot summa' nights driving" mixtape, Emmit Remmus by The Red Hot Chili Peppers, he added it when Sam said that's one of his favorites.

- do I need to talk about how much of an immense help you have been on hunts?

- you don't need to help out on every hunt despite Sam's disappointment and Dean's kid-like joy to have their friend help them out who is a professional/werewolf/hunter/geek, who kind of gets his references?? But you are geniunely so good it's funny to have the boys call you up and be like "..so we need help". They're happy you'll show up but there is still that lick of shame that taunts the Winchesters whenever they are forced to call for aid.

- this one time, you wanted to hug them after not seeing them for two weeks, and when you went to attack Sam, you heard his bones crack.

- your strength still surprises you and knocks other people off their feet

- it was so loud (atleast for you), you were sure you broke something

- Sam did nothing but give you his (killer) dimply smile and reassure you didn't do anything (even if he slightly grunted); while Dean whined like a kid saying (lying) he doesn't want a hug (you coaxed him into it eventually)

- Sam feels like he's not allowed to call you by your nickname, like he fears it's Dean's thing and not his

- so when he finally puts on his big boy pants, he's like, "Uhh–Cujo- 🧍‍♂️so get this.."

- all red and shy, trying to act casual, as if he doesn't wonder about the reaction you might have if he calls you other nicknames, like honey, sweetheart, even baby, or if he had the excuse to hold your hand, how would you hold it? Fingers interlocked or palms flat?

- Sam would also love to just marvel at your slit eyes; if he could he would take a picture and put it in his wallet; don't get me wrong if he had one where you were normal, he would cherish it just as much.

- Sam thinks your nickname is actually really cool (probably because it's a Stephen King reference, nerd), and you take that as a compliment. Sam is hard to entertain or please by his brother's antics.

- But he prefers saying your name

- there's something so intimate about the syllables rolling off his tongue so easily

- "_____, Are you okay? What is it? The soundproof earmuffs? I'll go get them." When everything, and I mean when every sound is just too much.

- Sam got them for you; he couldn't handle seeing you wince one more time whenever a car with a bad engine would pass by the motel (during a stressful hunt); its tires squealing under the concrete, making a faint sound for the boys, but for you so much louder.

- you know how pathethic it is to be affected by such small things when you're blessed with such powers? How can you call yourself a hunter when decibels, frequencies, and fucking tire squeals make you their bitch? You wish you could train yourself in a way that would make you less sensitive to certain sounds. It just adds to the reasons why hunters have the excuse or classify you as "the frail one" not only because you're a girl. When you used to hunt with your dad and sometimes mom, the amount of dog-shit comments from other hunters who had sons, were nothing but mysogynistic, curlish, and ruthless. "Are you sure the riffle isn't too heavy?", "Does she even know how to kill this thing?", "She's going to drag us down, do you want us to die?"— the type of comments that would make your dad shoot daggers into them, defend you "She's a goddamn ______, what do you think?", and whisper into your ear "Show em' what you're made of." and you would (stubbornly) listen to his advice to the damn letter after you almost mouthed them off.

Your dad believed in "Actions are sometimes louder than words." and all that adult crap, you were not as zen.

Your mom actually encouraged the sarcasm you have replied with in the past. The funniest memory your mother can recall is a story she tells at every gathering and every chance she gets to everyone, she praised you like crazy. When another hunter's son had the nerve to fuck with a twelve-year-old you. "Aren't you afraid of breaking a nail out there?" The boy sneered, puffing out his chest like a peacock. You stared at him with pure disbelief. "The only way I'm breaking a nail tonight is by kicking your ass, you cocky brainless jerk." You spat back, your mother and father were there and so was the boy's father; the gravity of the situation was on your shoulders, and their stares felt even heavier in comparison; intimidating him was 100% on the table. You felt like everyone had the same exact thought occuring them, an unspoken demand passed everyone there, even you: Do something. And you did. Your mother's jaw went slack; she doubled over, gripping whatever surface was near her and she started to chortle, with her shoulders shaking like never before. Your father was holding in a chuckle while massaging the bridge of his nose.

- Sam has to disagree with you whenever you complain about how your senses make you look or about the way you underestimate yourself. "What?! You can't be serious. _____, It doesn't mean you're weak. In fact, it makes you even more interesting. Everyone has an Achilles heel; yours is stronger because you're an amazing hunter who figured a way out. It makes you even stronger, I have no idea how you deal with this crap! Dean and I would've gone insane if we were in your shoes for more than a day."

- he is also forcing back his infamous (spectacular) bitchface

- he doesn't 'hold back' actually

- he geniunely cannot glare at you, not when you're like this. He can make a few exceptions, like when you join in Dean's teasing/joking (the silly rambunctious energy Dean carries around had, unfortunately, contiminated you or awakened yours)

- or when you start teasing Sam yourself, he shoots you a glare that classifies as nothing but hot (in your book at least), the kind of Sam glare that makes you flush knowing he doesn't mean it at all.

- Dean making you those fake ass I.D's like "Joan Jett", "Stevie Nicks", "Kathleen Hanna" and when you asked him to make more subtle ones he was like, bet. "Kelly Hammer", "Diana Bowie", "Laura Ulrich".

a/n: I wanted to apologize again for taking so long and for the unnecessary amount of context that literally nobody asked for. Uhh yeah and feedback would be very much appreciated<3, sava out *mic drop*

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #supernatural #dean winchester #spn #supernatural fanfiction #jared padalecki #jensen ackles #supernatural headcanons #supernatural fandom #supernatural season 1 #reader insert #supernatural imagine #supernatural fic #sava preaches

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lucidlivi · 1 year ago

Text

I Can See You (II)

Series Masterlist/Warnings

Tag List: @jc-winchester @mrsjenniferwinchester @perpetualabsurdity @antisocialcorrupt @heavenlyackles @anixiiee @jackles010378 @suckitands33 @deans-spinster-witch @k-slla @alternativeprincess @spnbaby-67 @cevansbaby-dove @cutedisneygrl @ladysparkles78 @rach5ive @deansapplepie @lauraashley93 @hzllxhoundxx @kmc1989 @creative-writing92 (if you would like added please comment on this post or send an ask with the story name so I can keep my story tag lists straight!)

"well I can see you."

What did that even mean?

Was he trying to flirt with me?

Surely not!

Although all of me wished that was the case, it couldn't be.

Could it?

I spent the rest of the night, well in to the next morning thinking about his words. I heard a light knocking on my door breaking me from my spiraling thoughts. Jared opens the door, crashing on my bed. I take my hand running it through his shaggy hair, it was something that always calmed him.

"what's up?" I asked him as he sighed.

"just tired, and a little nervous to start filming today." He admitted.

"don't be nervous, you'll be great, you always are." I smiled.

"I'm kind of glad you're coming with."

"kind of?" I scoffed in mock hurt.

"you know what I mean you brat." Jared said shoving my hand away from his hair.

"if anyone is a brat here it's you moose." I teased.

"just shut up and get dressed, we have to leave in a hour."

"you cut me deep moose." I joked.

Jared rolled his eyes before standing up and walking towards the door.

"uh one more thing, just uh stick with me and Jensen today, don't go wandering off like you do." Jared said, referring to my disappearing act last night at the party.

Jensen.

At the mention of his name, the events from last night, his words, it all came flooding back. I bit my lip, once again starting my spiral of overthinking.

"did you hear me?" Jared asked.

I rolled my eyes at him. He could be really annoyingly overprotective sometimes. I reluctantly shook my head in agreement.

"now get out of here!" I groaned throwing a pillow at him.

Jared dodged it easily, laughing before departing from my room.

I quickly got up throwing on some jeans and a t-shirt that read I ❤️Dean Winchester. I got it simply because I knew it would make Jared mad, and as his little sister I had a duty to annoy him as much as possible.

I ran a hand through my hair before descending down the stairs. Jared and Jensen sat in the kitchen, hunched over bowls of cereal. Jared was the first one to look up.

"what are you wearing?" He asked rolling his eyes, causing Jensen to look up too.

I could see the grin spread to Jensen's face.

"I for one love it." He smirked.

Jared rolled his eyes again.

"I can't wear your merch, that'd be weird, besides everyone knows Dean is the superior Winchester." I laughed grabbing the cereal box and dumping some in to my open mouth.

"she's got a point." Jensen said grabbing the cereal box from my hands to pour me a bowl.

"I hate you both." Jared grumbled, getting up to put his bowl in the sink.

I could feel an awkward tension settle between me and Jensen as Jared left the room. It was the first time where I had no clue what to say to him. It seemed like he was struggling with the same thing.

"about last night.." Jensen started but I cut him off.

"what about it?"

"I uh probably shouldn't have said that.." He said rubbing his neck nervously.

Ouch.

It was silly of me to think he meant anything by it.

"oh, okay." I whispered, trying my best to hide the disappointment in my voice.

Jensen breathed a sigh, standing up and walking over to the sink to deposit his bowl. He turns around quickly glancing at me.

"I meant it, I just probably shouldn't have said it."

I was dumbfounded as I watched him leave the kitchen.

I let out a shaky breath I didn't realize I was holding. I couldn't stop the smile that spread to my face.

Holy Shit.

It was definitely him being flirty.

Why else would he say he shouldn't have said it?

He didn't want Jared to know he was flirting with his little sister.

Okay, maybe I was getting a little too ahead of myself.

I scarfed down the rest of my cereal quickly joining the boys in the car. I kept sneaking glances at Jensen but he never returned them. It was like when other people were around, I was just Jared's annoying little sister, but when we were alone he was different.

I was feeling excited when we got to set. Jared and Jensen immediately went to wardrobe and makeup, dragging me along. I didn't realize just how much went into getting ready for shooting. As soon as they were ready they were whisked away to start filming. I stayed close, just like I had promised. I didn't mind though, it was cool to see Jensen and Jared take on a different persona and become Sam and Dean Winchester.

I giggled as Jensen broke character, yelling at Jared for messing up his lines.

"be nice to him!" I yelled from the sidelines.

Jared gave me a look as if telling me to shut up. I smirked before standing up and stretching my muscles. It felt like we've been here for hours already. I know I promised to stick close, but I really needed to find a bathroom.

I slipped away quietly, walking around the massive studio. I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket. I pulled it out, bringing it to life. It was a text from mom asking how Jared was doing. I rolled my eyes typing back a reply. It seems it didn't matter how I was doing, like usual.

I was too busy looking at my phone that I didn't see the body in front of me until I was crashing in to it.

"shit, are you okay?"

I looked up to see a really handsome guy, he looked to be around the same age as me.

"uh yeah, that was totally my fault." I said taking his extended hand so he could help me to my feet.

"are you uh a Jensen fan?" He asked pointing to my shirt with a laugh.

"I'm uh, Jared, uh Sam's sister, I got it mainly to make him mad." I said awkwardly.

I wasn't the kind of girl who was experienced with talking to guys, especially handsome ones.

"Well Jared Sam's sister it's nice to meet you I'm Jeremiah, I'm an extra for the first two episodes." He teased.

"It's nice to meet you too extra Jeremiah." I teased back surprising myself.

He laughed, making me blush.

"It's uh (y/n)." I said with a smile.

"(y/n), nice name for a nice personality." Jeremiah said making me blush even harder.

I wasn't use to men complimenting me.

"thank you." I replied shyly.

"well uh, I should get going, I'm supposed to be in the makeup trailer." He smiled offering me a small wave.

"Jeremiah." I called causing him to turn around.

"could you uh, maybe point me towards a bathroom?" I asked with a laugh.

"I'll do you one better, follow me."

I started to walk next to Jeremiah, taking a moment to get a good look at him. He had the prettiest blue eyes, a vast contrast from Jensen's green ones. He was naturally tan, with muscles protruding from his shirt.

"I get it, it can get a little crazy on set, hard to find things." Jeremiah spoke, breaking the silence.

"yeah I don't know how you guys do it." I admitted looking at where we were.

I was indeed going the complete opposite direction of the bathroom.

"yeah and I'm just an extra." He said sounding a little bummed.

I grabbed his hand giving it a comforting squeeze.

"Jeremiah don't worry you'll get your big break soon enough, Jared thought he was going to be working odd jobs forever and now look at him." I comforted.

"you're really cool, you know that?" Jeremiah said turning towards me with a smile.

I felt the blush spreading to my cheeks once again.

"you're really cool too." I smiled.

"uh here we are." Jeremiah says gesturing to a door.

"thanks." I said offering him another genuine smile.

"see you around Jared Sam's sister." He said with a wink.

"see you around extra Jeremiah."

I couldn't fight the smile on my face. It was nice to be noticed by someone. I quickly used the restroom, before skipping happily back to set where the boys stood.

"what's got you so smiley?" Jensen asked as he took a seat beside me.

"oh nothing." I said trying to shrug it off.

"no come on, just tell me." Jensen said bumping me with his elbow.

I took a deep breath. I could tell Jensen wasn't going to give it up.

"Jeremiah, he's uh one of the extras on set, he's nice." I shrugged as if it weren't a big deal.

I thought for a second I saw a flash of disappointment on Jensen's face.

"nice is he?" Jensen asked leaning back in the chair.

"yes, he was nice." I said bumping him with my elbow.

"just be careful, nice guys are the ones you have to watch out for." Jensen said.

"are you giving me relationship advice?" I asked with a giggle.

"just want you to be careful baby moose."

I rolled my eyes at his nickname.

"can you please stop calling me that, I just want to be called by my actual name." I grumbled making Jensen smirk.

Jensen stood up, leaning in to whisper in my ear.

"nah, you'll always be my baby moose."

I couldn't fight the blush that spread to my cheeks as I watched him walk back to set, ready to film the next scene.

my baby moose.

Holy Shit.

I settled back in the chair trying to calm my breathing as I watched the next scene. I saw Jeremiah walk on to screen, reciting his lines. He caught my eye offering me a smile. I offered him one back, catching Jensen's attention.

"and that's a wrap." I heard the director yell off screen.

I stood up ready to greet Jared. I was surprised to see Jeremiah walking over to me.

"Hi." He said with a grin.

"Hi Jeremiah, you were great out there." I said offering him a smile.

"Thanks, I uh came over to see if maybe you wanted to go get coffee with me?" Jeremiah asked with a hopeful smile on his face.

Woah.

He was asking me on a date?

I glanced past him to see Jensen talking with a female coworker. He was laughing and putting a hand on her arm.

I realized that Jensen would never like me the way I liked him.

"I would love to go for coffee with you Jeremiah." I said loud enough so Jensen could hear.

"great, uh let me go change and then we can go." Jeremiah said before rushing off.

I smiled as I watched him leave.

"ready to go?" Jared asked returning from his trailer.

"actually she has a date tonight." Jensen said before I could.

I glared at him.

"a date? who with?" Jared questioned.

"Jeremiah, the extra." Jensen answered again scoffing as he said extra.

"so what if he's an extra, he's nice, and he likes me." I said, glaring directly at Jensen.

"I didn't say there was anything wrong with being an extra." Jensen defended.

"yeah well you sure seem like you have a problem." I growled.

"Jared and I don't want you to get hurt is all." Jensen shot back.

"I think the both of you should just let me make my own decisions." I yelled.

Jensen was about to respond, but Jeremiah was walking over to us again.

"I uh know this great coffee shop, you ready to go?" He asked nervously looking at Jared and Jensen.

"I am, I'll see you both later." I said glaring at both boys, but mostly Jensen.

Who did he think he was?

He acts one way when we're around everyone else and another when we're in private. It was confusing and frustrating. It was like he was ashamed to be with me. I deserved to have someone who was happy to be around me, happy to be seen with me.

Jensen

I watched her walk away, slipping her hand in his.

I could feel the jealously burning in my chest.

I shouldn't be jealous, I know that.

I can't help it.

I thought I made it clear that I was interested, but I guess I hadn't made it clear enough.

"dude, what's up with you?" Jared asked looking at me.

"nothing, I just don't want baby moose to get taken advantage of by some guy we don't even know." I said trying to hide what I was actually feeling.

"I mean yeah but he seems harmless enough." Jared shrugs.

I think that was the problem.

He seemed like a good guy. A guy that could treat her how she deserved to be treated. A guy that Jared approved of.

"I guess so." I answered.

"I'm beat, you ready to go home?" Jared asked with a yawn.

"I'll catch you at home, there's some things I need to take care of first." I said offering him a smile.

"okay man, see you later." Jared said with a wave.

I was suddenly feeling the need for some coffee.

Reader

"oh my gosh no." Jeremiah said laughing at my embarrassing story.

I had been talking to Jeremiah for over an hour. He was super easy to talk to once I got over the nerves. He was actually really funny too. I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

"I swear to you, spilled it all over the designer." I said laughing too.

"you certainly have a thing for great first impressions." Jeremiah winked.

"It's one of my many shining qualities." I joked.

"I mean you didn't have to hurt yourself to get my attention." Jeremiah flirts, placing a hand on my cheek.

I couldn't stop the blush that spread to my cheeks.

"you're cute when you blush." Jeremiah said gently stroking my cheek with his thumb.

"I probably look like a mess." I said laughing.

"I don't think that's even possible." He whispered, closer to me now.

I could see his eyes shifting from mine, down to my lips.

I think he wants to kiss me.

I think I might want him too.

I gulped as he leaned in, fluttering his eyes closed.

"baby moose, so funny seeing you here."

I jumped at Jensen's loud voice pulling away from Jeremiah.

"Jeremiah right?" Jensen asks holding his hand out for Jeremiah to shake.

"yeah, hey." Jeremiah answers shaking his hand.

It was incredibly awkward as Jensen stood staring at Jeremiah.

"uh Jere, can you go get me a refill?" I asked handing him my empty coffee cup.

"sure, be right back." Jeremiah smiled, taking my cup and disappearing towards the front.

I turned towards Jensen glaring at him.

"what the hell do you think you're doing?" I growled.

"oh you know just getting some coffee."

"you have no right, you need to go!"

"relax, I'm just grabbing some coffee." Jensen smirked.

"well grab your coffee and go, now."

"you don't have to be such a brat." Jensen scoffed before leaving.

Jeremiah came back shortly after with a now full cup of coffee.

"everything okay there?" He asked looking around for Jensen.

"yeah, sorry he just can be kind of an ass sometimes." I said furrowing my eyebrows.

I sat with Jeremiah for another hour, talking and laughing. He then offered to drive me home, which of course I accepted. He pulled in to the driveway, turning off the car.

"I uh, had a really nice time with you tonight." Jeremiah said.

"I had a good time too, thank you." I said offering him a smile.

"I guess this is goodnight then." Jeremiah said slowly, like he was dreading leaving.

"I mean shouldn't we say goodnight properly?" I asked turning towards him with a flirty smile.

Jeremiah smirked, getting what I was hinting at.

Jeremiah leaned in, capturing my lips with his in a gentle kiss. I put my hand on his cheek, kissing him deeper. He was really good at it. I slowly pulled away, allowing the blush to spread to my cheeks.

"goodnight Jeremiah." I said before exiting the car.

I couldn't fight the smile as I walked in to the house, going towards the kitchen.

"how was the rest of your hot date?" Jensen asked sitting at the kitchen island.

I felt my anger towards him return.

"excuse me?"

"relax (y/n) I was just having a bit of fun." Jensen said.

"you're an asshole you know that, okay, all I wanted was to go on a date with a guy I think is cute, and sweet and you had to show up and ruin it." I growled.

"and me showing up for like two seconds ruined that, really?"

"why couldn't you just let me have this one thing, just admit it you cared where I was, who I was with." I started but Jensen quickly cut me off.

"no I didn't, I don't." Jensen was quick to defend

"stop lying!"

"stop being such a baby!"

"oh and you're such an adult huh, you spent your night crashing my first date just for fun!" I yelled furious at him.

Jensen glared at me, taking a sip of his beer.

"you know what just forget it, why don't you go flirt with some more girls." I scoffed turning to walk away.

"yeah, well why don't you go kiss some more wannabe actors." Jensen growled.

I took a deep breath walking away from him.

I feel that if someone really wants you in their life, they’re gonna show it, not just talk about it, and if their actions don’t match up to their words, I lose interest fast.

Jensen was unbelievable.

If he wanted me, he would show it.

I used to know I wanted him, but now I'm not so sure.

Author Note:

I hope you enjoyed part two! If you could, please leave a heart, comment, reblog, or a follow it would be greatly appreciated! Stay tuned for more!

240 notes · View notes

sofreddie · 3 months ago

Text

Against All Odds

Summary: Jared is a small-town Deputy who's lived there all his life. When he met Y/N - a new Omega in town - in the drunk tank, he wondered if he'd ever get a second chance at love.

Characters: Alpha!Correctional Officer!Jared x Omega!Reader

Warnings: A/B/O Dynamics, Angst, Fluff, Drinking/Alcohol Abuse, Medical Conditions, Medical Treatments, Heat/Rut Cycles, Medical Emergency, Procedural Violations (Doctors bending the rules/laws), Smut (Fuck or Die, Unprotected Sex, Knotting, Claiming/Biting, Dirty Talk)

AU: CORRECTIONAL OFFICER!JARED (@spnaubingo)

ANGST: IN THE HOSPITAL (@anyfandomangstbingo)

OMEGAVERSE: CLAIM SEX (@afgomegaversebingo)

SW: FREE SPACE (@samwinchesterbingo)

WC: 11,623

A/N: So I started this fic in 2021 for my Bingos (which I am still working on and intend to complete eventually). I doubt they count anymore, but that's not the point, LOL. I took quite a few liberties with the prompts. Although it took ages to complete, I am delighted with how this fic turned out. I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is appreciated. : )

My Masterlist

The weight of her head was heavy in her hands, the concrete beneath her cold enough to numb her backside. Groaning, she pinched her eyes shut against the overly bright lights that rained down on her, creating a constant pounding behind her closed lids.

"Good Morning, Ms. Y/L/N. How are we feeling today?"

Y/N groaned louder, the chipper and familiar voice only adding to her torment.

"Mornin' Padadeputy," she snorted at her joke, wincing as it caused her poor, battered brain pain. "Can I go home?" she croaked, working her mouth to ease the dryness.

She could use a drink. But the very thought had her throwing a hand over her mouth and rushing to the steel toilet in the corner, the remnants of her late-night excursions making a reappearance.

Wiping a hand across her mouth, she leaned her back against the wall, her head tilted back, and her eyes closed as she felt a bit of relief from her suffering. Though the constant rhythmic pounding in her head only grew more prominent.

The sound of metal sliding against metal, locks clicking, and doors sliding alerted her that she was no longer confined. Opening her eyes just enough, she could make out her favorite deputy's tall and lean figure.

"So, at this rate, should we keep this room open for you?" Officer Padalecki joked as he leaned against the open doorway of the cell.

Using the wall as leverage, she forced herself to her feet, her body protesting the movements. She quickly rinsed her mouth and washed her face, waking herself up enough to return home.

"Maybe I just like seeing you?" She smiled over-sweetly and shuffled past him as her feet walked the familiar path.

"Not that I'm complaining, but there's probably better ways to get my attention," he teased.

The flirty banter between them happened with ease. Y/N, unfortunately, made a habit of landing herself in the drunk tank at least once a week. Though they'd never seen or talked to each other outside of the local jail, they formed an easy camaraderie.

The truth was he worried about her, the unclaimed Omega slowly drinking herself to death, being forcibly removed from local bars for disorderly conduct on many occasions. She seemed like a sweet but troubled woman. Maybe it was his caring side or his Alpha, but he worried and wanted her to be okay.

Y/N's senses were sharp, even when drunk out of her mind. She could see his attractiveness and smell his rich Alpha lurking under the surface. She'd never been with an Alpha, never felt the pull. But in her condition, there was no way she could start now, even if there were an attraction unlike anything she'd felt before. She brushed it off as another symptom; her Omega had long since become unreliable.

Jared walked back into the office area after escorting Y/N outside. As soon as he entered, Jensen looked up with a lewd grin, making Jared sigh and roll his eyes.

"Alright, let's have it," Jared scoffed as he sat at his desk, crossing his booted feet on the desktop and leaning back in his chair.

He had worked with Jensen at the station for years, but they had met at the training academy before that. However, they only spent a little time together outside of work, as they were involved in the community. Sometimes, they'd see each other at local events, but they were both occupied with helping the community in various ways, volunteering, and making their hometown well-cared for and safe.

Y/N was relatively new to their community. No one knew much about her. She lived in town but didn't seem to work anywhere, and she spent almost every Friday night sleeping it off in the jail. Regardless, Jared was attracted to her almost immediately after catching a slight hint of her scent. He often felt like a swooning teenager again in her presence, which Jensen never missed a chance to rib him about, leaving Jared an embarrassed and blustering mess.

"So, you ever gonna ask her out, or you just planning to be a secret admirer?" Jensen teased as usual.

"Come on, man," Jared groaned. "We've been over this. It's unprofessional to do that when I'm on duty and she's in jail. I never see her outside of this place. Maybe it's just not meant to be?"

He didn't like how the words tasted as he spoke them, somehow feeling malformed. There was something between them, a possible compatibility. After all, Jensen could never catch any scent from her; he was an Alpha, too. So, if Jared was sensitive to her scent, it must mean something.

Jensen shook his head and laughed before getting back to some paperwork. Jared sighed again, doing the same and wondering if he'd ever see her outside the jail and off duty, just like two people in the world. Then, he promised himself, he’d try again.

After Jared clocked out for the end of his shift - his relief right on time as usual - he tried to put Y/N out of his mind, but his Alpha was set on her ever since he'd first laid eyes on her. His mind flip-flopped as usual, switching from the primal Alpha wanting her to the rational man determined to remain professional. Either way, whatever was going on in her life, he was sure the last thing she needed was an Alpha sniffing around.

As he walked towards his truck, twirling his keys in his hand, he saw Y/N waiting on a bench by the station. She usually called a cab to come and get her when she was released, but she was long gone by the time he left to go home. Deciding to take a chance, he went over to her.

"Waiting on your cab?" he smiled down at her.

She nodded, "Yeah, they're just a little busy this morning."

"I can give you a ride if you'd like," he offered, pointing over his shoulder at his truck. Y/N's eyes flitted between him and his truck before she sighed and nodded.

"Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks."

She could feel his eyes on her as she climbed in the old truck, the effort seeming to drain her. She glanced at him, the same look of worry she saw from everyone etched onto his beautiful face.

"I'm fine. Just need some sleep."

It was one of her standard responses. She was glad that Jared seemed to buy it and started driving. She gave him directions to her house, grateful the town was small and wasn't a long drive.

"Thanks again," she said as she climbed out of the truck and shut the door. "See you later."

"I hope under different circumstances," he chuckled, a light tinge of pink staining his cheeks and ears.

Yeah, she wished that things could be different, too. She bid her farewell as it was, noting that Jared hadn't driven off until she was safely secured inside. Sighing, she brushed it off, eager to get rid of the stink of jail and stale liquor that clung to her.

She stumbled into her bathroom, pulling off her clothes on the way, a haphazard trail left behind her. She leaned on the bathroom counter, groaning at her disheveled reflection in the mirror. Drinking wasn't doing her any favors, but it was the only way to drown the pain and sorrow.

She turned to the corner of the counter, opening her organized pill box and eyeballing the many different medications in various colors and sizes she had to take every day. She hated it, but her regimen required it as part of her treatment for aging, unmated Omegas.

She downed the pills with a glass of water, showered, and dried as quickly as possible. Forgoing clothes, she climbed into her bed, sleep taking over quickly.

Y/N sat in the oversized pleather chair, letting out a long sigh. Her eyes were more than bored with whatever random home makeover show played on the muted TV. She allowed her eyes to roam, taking in the other chairs like hers, with different people occupying them.

Her head rolled to the other side, glancing at the IV in her arm, her eyes following up the tubing to the bag hanging above her, still half-full. She groaned, knowing she'd be there a while yet.

She'd been at it for six months, and the treatment of donated Alpha enzymes was designed to counteract the decline of her Omega body. She was past the average age for Omegas to be mated, never having found an Alpha that called to her Omega. Now, being mateless had become a medical condition, her body rapidly deteriorating from lack of a mate and the necessary enzymes a bite would provide.

Still, the treatments would only work so much and for so long, prolonging the inevitable. Y/N's doctors insisted she try finding a mate as soon as possible, but she wasn't willing to settle for anyone. Her stubbornness, however, didn't help her condition. The treatments weren't as effective anymore, and her body started to build a tolerance. She shifted in her chair, the squeaky creak of the materials making her groan.

"Y/N?"

Her head snapped up, and her brow furrowed at the figure across the room. He finished his conversation with a doctor, rolling the sleeves of his plaid flannel down over his forearms as he approached her with a smile.

He pulled up one of the smaller guest chairs beside her, laying his coat over his knee. His body looked too large and long for the basic chair.

"Padadeputy," she greeted, but without the usual smile. "What are you doing here?" she asked, still confused over his sudden appearance and at having someone see her here. She hadn't told a soul about her treatments, not that she had anyone to say anything to.

"Jared," he corrected her with a smile. "I come in a couple times a month," he explained. "I donate enzymes."

His eyes drifted from the IV in her arm to the hanging bag, his gaze flicking back to her eyes. She lowered her head in shame, heat spreading across her cheeks. For a moment, they both wondered if it was his enzymes she'd received.

The awkward silence dragged out between them, Jared waiting for her to speak. She didn't like anyone knowing about her condition, afraid Alphas would try to claim her in a heartbeat 'for her own good.' But, for whatever reason, Y/N felt compelled to tell Jared the truth. She wanted him to know. Maybe her Omega was reaching out to him again, but she gave in to this small need to connect with the Alpha before her.

"I've never had a mate," she spoke quietly, picking at her nails. "I've been doing treatments for a few months. But it's-" she sighed, briefly meeting his eyes and forcing a smile, "-it's not working so well."

"I had a mate," Jared broke the silent tension after a beat. "A long time ago," he dropped his head. She worried for him, wanting to reach out and comfort him. But she focused instead on her hands in her lap again.

"She died in an accident," he continued, seemingly composing himself as he met her eyes again. "Now that I'm…older," he smirked, "It's getting harder to deal with." She was thoroughly surprised by his admission.

"Well, I wouldn't recommend drinking to cope," she chuckled, trying to ease the seriousness.

"I can't imagine the drinking is helping," Jared stated. "It can't be good with the treatments-"

"I don't need a lecture," she whined, surprised at herself for not being more angry at his audacity. "I get enough of that from my doctor."

"Maybe you should listen," Dr. Collins interrupted with a smile and a reassuring hand on Y/N's shoulder. "Hey, Jared. Didn't know you two knew each other."

"Hey, Mish," Jared responded with a warm smile.

Misha had also grown up in the town and was a prominent fixture in the community. The Omega Outreach Program, which he helped found and develop, drew Omegas from all over for his unique treatments and regimens.

Y/N listened as the two men chatted. She often felt like an outsider, having moved there specifically for the treatments. When both men turned their attention back to her, she was pulled from her musings.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I'd like to go over some things with you. Would you like Jared to leave?"

Both men waited as she made up her mind, shaking her head. "He can stay," she said in a small and quiet voice.

Jared was the closest thing she had to a friend; having someone to know and talk to about things would be helpful. But also, it was an attempted blow to stifle her Omega. As much as she pined after Jared, she knew he wouldn't be interested if he knew the truth of her condition. What Alpha would want a broken, dying Omega? At least when he learned, he could leave, and she could try and let go of this stupid fantasy she'd concocted in her mind.

"Okay," Dr. Collins nodded as he pulled up a seat to talk with her. "You'll be happy to know it appears this round of treatments is starting to work, at least a little," he explained. Y/N was surprised as each round of treatments before had failed, her body not finding compatibility with any of the enzymes she was provided. Now, it seemed, they'd finally found a match. "I'm still worried about your heat. And, of course," he leveled her with a gaze, "The goal is to find an Alpha for a permanent solution possibly. Have you given more thought to what we discussed?"

She appreciated his vagueness at the time, seeing Jared stir quietly. Dr. Collins had recommended a matching service that would pair her with an Alpha who needed an Omega. A clinical pairing that would keep them alive, if not happy or in love. That wasn't the point of those programs; she didn't want to go that route. It felt like giving up, and a small part of her hoped to find the fairytale of True Mates and love and romance. Her eyes flashed to Jared, stirring deep within her, alerting her to the fact her Omega was trying to seek the Alpha it needed in him.

"No," she shook her head, forcing her eyes from Jared back to Misha. "I don't want to do that."

Misha sighed, glancing between the pair before nodding. "Alright, we'll continue your treatments and see how you do. Same time next week?"

She smiled and nodded, and Dr. Collins dismissed himself to help the next patient. She liked him a lot. He never seemed to judge her, was open, kind, and understanding, but provided the same level of detailed care to every one of his patients. It was a big part of what made him so sought after in the first place.

"It seems pretty bad," Jared mumbled once they were alone again. He tried to bite back the rising jealousy at his following words: "He's recommending a matching service, isn't he?" She nodded, and he felt a little queasy. "Is that what you want?"

"No," she said, meeting his eyes. "I don't want to give myself to any Alpha to survive. But because I've never been with an Alpha at all, my condition is worse. I'm afraid the choice will be taken from me."

Jared licked his lips and leaned forward, ready to take the chance and offer himself to her, "Y/N, I-"

His phone ringing made him squeeze his eyes shut and curse. As he answered the phone, Jared's body slumped, and Y/N knew he would have to leave.

"-I have to go," he finished lamely, flashing her an apologetic look.

"Duty calls," she chuckled, attempting again to lighten a rather heavy mood.

He laughed with a light sparkle in his eyes. Even though he was a rather large Alpha, she felt comfortable around him. Conversation flowed easily, and she found herself drawn to him in a way she hadn't felt with anyone before. She was almost sad when her treatment finished, and he bid her farewell. Her eyes followed him until he disappeared from her sight.

Maybe it's for the best, she thought, that he leaves before her Omega reaches out for him with dying desperation, ignoring the lingering flutter in her chest. Regardless, she hoped she might see him again, not from within the drunk tank.

Jared checked his watch, hurrying his steps toward the hospital's entrance. He did his best to try and calm his racing heart. Jared scheduled his donations for several weeks to coincide with Y/N's treatments.

After their third visit, Dr. Collins pulled him aside to say that she'd been improving with Jared's visits and that the treatments were becoming more effective. However, they still wouldn't tell him if she received his enzymes, so Jared made sure to be there for her.

She was utterly alone, he learned. And her drinking that kept landing her in jail was a failed coping mechanism. She was spiraling toward a painful end. The more he knew and the more time he spent with her, the stronger the pull between them became.

Maybe it was because they were both without a mate. Perhaps it was because they were both dealing with their bodies degrading. But he held on to the slight hope that maybe they were compatible, and that's why their visits always felt like the highlight of his week.

He was nervous as he reached the treatment floor. He was excited to see Y/N and had been working up the nerve over the past two weeks. This time, he was ready; he would go for it and ask her out. Their connection was strong, and he'd been attracted to her since he first saw her. Finally, things were aligning.

As he entered the clinic, his heart sank. He did not see Y/N anywhere among those receiving treatment. He knew it was the right day, the same as it had always been. Checking his watch once more, he frowned. Turning to the receptionist's desk, he gave his name and signed in on the sheet. While the woman behind the desk typed on her computer, he took a moment to glance over the sign-in sheet, not seeing her name anywhere.

Maybe she had other things going on and had to reschedule her appointment. Jared forced back his despondency, deciding to show up earlier the following week. As he sat through his donation, his mind overthinking in circles and lamenting her absence, the most primal side of his inner Alpha began to wake for the first time in years.

Jared tried to focus on the paperwork at his desk, but he was restless, his inner Alpha rising to the forefront increasingly with each passing day. He could feel Jensen's eyes boring into him, but he did his best to ignore it. Jensen was increasingly concerned as he watched his Alpha friend unravel before him. He wasn't even sure Jared was aware of the huffs and growls falling from his lips sporadically, his scent permeating everything around him.

"What?" Jared growled at his friend and co-worker with bared teeth. At Jensen's raised brow, Jared tried to compose himself. "I'm sorry."

"Man, I've never seen you like this," Jensen said. "Not even after Gen."

"I know," Jared responded defensively, trying not to bristle at the mention of his former mate.

"Have you seen Y/N lately?"

Jensen didn't want to bring her up, but she hadn't been in jail in weeks. While grateful for that, he could see how badly it affected Jared not to see or be around her.

"She wasn't at the clinic," Jared mumbled, seeing Jensen's curious look. Remembering no one knew, he decided to talk it out with a friend. "She goes to the clinic for Omega treatment," he explained. "I've seen her when I go for donations, but she wasn't there this week."

"Look, I don't want you snapping my head off. But you're different around her, and now that she's not around, you're not looking great. I thought it was just a crush, but maybe you've imprinted," Jensen said as Jared scowled. "Maybe she's yours."

Jared tried to ignore how those words affected him, making him purr at the thought of her being his. He'd entertained the idea himself, the fantastical notion of True Mates. He tried to brush it off as silly, immature musings. But now, hearing Jensen vocalize the same thoughts, Jared wondered if maybe it wasn't just childish notions grounded in something genuine.

When Jared didn't speak and returned to work, Jensen let it go. However, he was determined to keep an eye on his friend and help if needed. He didn't want to see Jared spin out like he did when he lost his mate, Gen. Maybe Jared and Y/N could save each other from a fate worse than death.

As promised to himself, Jared returned to the clinic the following week, an hour before he or Y/N were usually scheduled to be there. He sat and waited, completed his donation, and waited another hour beyond the end of his appointment.

But Y/N never showed.

His Alpha was beginning to spin out of his control. A control he maintained so tightly and with relative ease most of his life was now being stripped away in his worry over Y/N. An Omega. One that his Alpha wanted to claim as its own.

He continued going to work each day, both happy and sad that she was never there. He visited the clinic daily to see if her schedule had changed, but she was absent. He briefly entertained the idea of showing up at her door, but he stopped himself. As much as he may care about and want her, she wasn't his Omega. She wasn't his anything, and he had no right to show up. If anything, she might consider it an abuse of his knowledge or power as a deputy, and he certainly didn't want that either.

By the time of his next appointment, Jared was a mess. His Alpha was now at the forefront. He felt almost on the cusp of a rut and wasn't due for some time. The looks from the hospital staff irritated him further as he huffed and stomped his way into the clinic, wiping the ever-present sweat from his brow. It took all he had to contain himself when Dr. Collins refused his weekly donation and sent him home.

He decided to call out of work that night, his rut on the cusp, his Alpha barely restrained. He never called out of work, keeping himself to a strict and disciplined schedule and lifestyle - his way of controlling the beast.

Jared was interrupted from his musings by the phone ringing. He scowled, checking the ID and seeing it was the station. He laid back on the couch with a groan, wiping the sweat from his brow before answering.

"I told you I was too sick to come in tonight," Jared nearly growled.

"I know. But your lady friend found herself locked up again." It was Jensen. "She wanted me to call you."

That had him sitting upright, clutching the phone a little tighter. "She okay?" he asked, jumping up from the couch and rushing to put on his shoes.

"Drunk," Jensen sighed into the phone. "Not as lively as usual, though."

Jared slammed his door as he hastened to his truck, eager to see her and hoping she was okay. His Alpha was chomping at the bit.

"I'll be there in a few minutes."

God, he couldn't be anything but happy she was alive. He slowly drove himself mad for weeks, wondering if he'd missed his chance. Maybe she was going feral, and he couldn't help. Perhaps he did something to piss her off, and she was avoiding him. But now, at least, he knew she was alive and out in the world and asking for HIM. His Alpha puffed with pride, ready to answer his Omega's call.

He barely had the truck in park before hopping out, his long legs marching hurriedly to the station doors. He banged on the glass of the locked front door with an open palm, shuffling from foot to foot as he waited for entry. The bright lights around the law enforcement facility thoroughly polluted the dark of night.

As the door opened, Jared met Jensen's eyes, which roamed him from head to toe and back again. Jared squirmed under the scrutiny, knowing he was a mess. His hair was wild and matted with sweat. His clothes and body were drenched in pheromones, making Jensen's nose crinkle.

"You good?" he asked.

"Yeah," Jared nodded and swallowed hard, taking several breaths to try and calm himself.

Jensen hesitated momentarily, eyeing Jared warily before huffing and letting him in. Jared followed hot on his heels as Jensen unlocked doors and led the way into the holding cell.

Jared froze as soon as his eyes landed on her. She was huddled in the corner, looking far worse than he'd ever seen her. She was undoubtedly drunk, but by the smells permeating every corner of the room, he knew it was more than just alcohol that was making her so lethargic.

"Y/N?" he called out loudly as he clung to the bars.

She stirred and grunted but didn't respond beyond that. Jared's nostrils flared, his Alpha ready to pry the bars apart to get to her.

"Omega?" he whimpered under his breath as if saying it were a delicate secret.

Hearing her title, she sat up slightly, fluttering open her eyes to lock on the source. She took a deep breath at the slight whine from the Alpha on the other side of the bars. As her vision cleared and her body filled with his scent, she rose, stumbling to him. When her smaller hands clutched at the bars, he automatically moved to cover hers with his own, drawing a small whimper from the fragile Omega.

"Sorry, Padadeputy," she smirked, finally meeting his eyes. "I didn't have anyone else to call."

He could see unspoken pain in her eyes, could sense just how bad her condition had gotten and how worse she was making it from drinking. He reluctantly released her, stepping back from the bars and turning to Jensen.

"Let her out," Jared asked but with a commanding Alpha edge. "I'll take her home."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea," Jensen protested.

"I don't care what you think," Jared growled. "I'm taking her home where she can sleep it off. You don't know her condition, man."

"And you do?" Jensen asked surprisingly calmly, though his look was anything but.

"Yes, I do," Jared stood tall, squaring his shoulders. "I won't hurt her."

Jensen was still hesitant. But in the end, he trusted his friend. Jared had always been thoughtful and in control in a way Jensen envied. If he could trust anyone with her care, it was Jared. Besides, whatever the Hell was going on with her, she'd certainly do better at home than in a cold, concrete cell.

With a nod and a huff, Jensen relented, turning to the cell door and opening it up, letting Y/N out.

She smiled at Jensen, "Thank you, Ocifer Ankles." She grinned, making Jensen roll his eyes.

"Just get her home safe, okay?"

"Promise," Jared nodded, wrapping an arm around Y/N to steady her as they left the building and walked to his truck.

He secured her safely in the passenger's seat, closed the door, and jogged to the driver's side. He hopped in and started up the truck but leaned back in his seat with a huff, taking a deep breath.

He turned to Y/N, surprised to find her already looking at him. "You called for me," he breathed out, more a statement than a question.

"Well, I didn't have your number," she fidgeted with her hands. “I didn't know anyone else and wanted to go home."

"I haven't seen you in weeks-"

He stopped as her hand landed on his, squeezing lightly. "I'm sorry," she said. “I'll explain everything. Please, take me home."

He agreed, guiding the truck onto the road and quickly remembering the route to her house. He may not have gone there, but he traveled the path in his mind often enough. He was pleasantly surprised that she held his hand the whole ride, even if her attention was on the passing scenery.

Parking in the driveway, they both got out. Y/N quickly took Jared by the hand again as she led him into her house. Guiding him to the couch, she went to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. He was already missing her touch and warmth, her presence beside him. He fought the urge to wander into the kitchen and forced himself to sit on the couch.

She knew there was a lot to tell him. She could tell he was riled, and she wasn't entirely surprised. During his visits, they talked and grew more familiar, and Y/N began to entertain the thought of having an Alpha. It was hard for her not to see him in weeks, and she could see that it also affected him.

Pouring the coffee into two mugs, she carried them to the living room, handing Jared one before sitting on the couch facing him.

"Jared," she started, and he purred at hearing his name from her lips. "I'm sorry if I made things awkward by calling you."

"What?" he said, setting his mug on the small table and paying attention to her. "You didn't. I'm glad you called."

She smiled bashfully, "I'm sorry I haven't been to treatment in a while."

"What happened, Y/N?" he asked, still worried but needing to know why she was gone.

"My heat's trying to break through," she explained. "It's been a long time since I've had one because of medications. It didn't hit fully, but what started to break through was enough to make me sick."

Jared's breathing picked up as he listened to her words. His Alpha was going into a panic again. He knew something was wrong. If it was her heat, he could've helped. He can help.

"I was admitted to the Omega wing at the hospital," seeing him getting worked up, she tried to calm him. "They got it managed and switched my meds. It's been trying to worm to the surface for weeks."

"Eventually, it'll come back full force, though, right?" he swallowed hard at the question, knowing full well how painful and possibly fatal a heat for her could be. He had thoroughly researched her condition, and it only made him more sure they met for a reason.

"I've never had an Alpha, Jared. I've never even been with one before."

He let out a deep growl at her statement, which was more a call to her womanhood than something scary. He wasn't fully aware he'd done it until he saw her body respond. Taking a chance and testing the waters, she set her cup on the table and scooted closer to him. Leaning in, she lay her head on his chest, her arms wrapping around him in a tight hug. She breathed in deeply, blatantly scenting him and humming in satisfaction and comfort.

Jared set his mug aside and wrapped his arms around her, tucking her close. He leaned down to scent her hair as she breathed in his scent, an involuntary groan ripping from his lips. In his youth, he would have been eager to take and claim. Now, there was only calm and peace, her scent and warmth soothing the primal beast within.

"You know I had an Omega before," Jared's voice rumbled in his chest. "It shames me to say this, but it never felt like this."

"I know what you mean," she responded, squeezing him a little, making him hold her closer. “I've never felt such compatibility before. I can usually resist Alphas, but with you…"

True mates, Jared's mind offered, but he remained silent. As the conversation quieted, he moved to retrieve the remote from the table, putting something on to watch until she was ready to sleep. It didn't take long for her to pass out. Jared carefully moved, scooping her into his arms and carrying her to her bedroom. He tucked her under the covers, standing over her as she settled into comfort.

He knew this was when he should leave but he couldn't move his feet. His eyes drifted over Y/N’s face, settled peacefully in slumber, before looking over her shape and form, hidden by the covers. She was beautiful, her scent sweet and enticing. His muscles twitched as he fought the urge to crawl beside her, his Alpha yearning to make her his.

He could leave, he supposed, and he probably should. But he didn't want to, and he reasoned that Y/N probably needed someone to look after her anyway. So, returning to the living room, he kicked off his shoes and settled on the couch. He was asleep in a matter of minutes, her scent surrounding him and providing him with much-needed comfort.

Jared woke suddenly in the middle of the night, a second of confusion clouding his mind before he realized why he had woken. Drenched in sweat, he discovered his rut had finally broken in his relaxed state. Although he could smell himself—sweating in the same clothes for two days and soaked once more—her delectable scent still permeated everything.

Now fully awake, he sat upright on the couch, cradling his aching head. His Alpha was desperate to go to her, sneak into her room, and ease their suffering. But he also didn't want to scare her or ruin what they were starting to develop between them. He wouldn't let himself lose control with her. But if he stayed there much longer, the choice might be taken from him.

Mind made up, he searched for a scrap of paper and something to write with, hastily jotting down his number and that he'd see her at the next treatment appointment the following day. He placed the note on the coffee table and forced his feet towards the door. He paused with his hand on the handle, his forehead leaning against the cool door. His Alpha was screaming at him not to do this or leave her.

With his last bought of strength and willpower, he opened the door, shutting it quietly behind him as he forced his feet toward his truck, hoping to sleep it off at home.

When she woke in the morning, she felt awful. She knew right away that her heat had broken. She feared this would be the one the doctor had warned her about - the one that would drive her feral. She could faintly smell Jared, and her body forced her to crawl from the bed and towards the source.

She stumbled to the living room like a zombie on automatic. She was surprised not to find him there when she reached the couch. Maybe he was in the bathroom? She glanced at the coffee table, seeing a paper. Dashing to grab it, she read the hastily scribbled note from Jared.

He had to go but would see her at her next appointment. That was tomorrow afternoon. Her Omega whined in protest of his absence. His scent lingered, and she crawled onto the couch, wrapping herself in the throw and drowning in his potent scent. It seemed to seep into everything fabric he touched and slept upon.

As Jared's rich, Alpha scent filled her lungs, her heat slammed into her with a ferocity that terrified her. The pain compounded with heartbreak over the perceived rejection from his departure. His scent ramped up her body from desire to urgent need as a pitiful whine escaped her parted lips.

With hazy images in her mind's eye, her hand wandered down her body and between her thighs, desperate for any form of relief from the burning within her. She came hard with Jared's name on her lips but was still unsatisfied and yearning. Already feeling tired and drained, she forced her fingers to continue, her wetness more than she'd ever felt before. A brief, alarming worry flashed through her before a second climax erased all thought. Again, it wasn't quite enough, but it eased her pain just enough for her to fall asleep.

Jared rushed toward the clinic doors, his heart racing. Ever since he'd left Y/N's house, he'd been itching to see her again, to just be near her. He'd showered twice and doused himself in scent blockers, knowing they wouldn't let him stay if he was in a rut. But he'd promised to see her. He couldn't donate in his condition, but he could keep her company and show her he could be trusted.

Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, Jared walked into the clinic, his eyes flitting about, looking for her. He didn't see or scent her anywhere. Glancing at the clock, he reviewed the sign-in sheet, but her name was not listed. A sinking dread filled his stomach, and he was unaware of his worried Alpha scent growing and filling the space, drawing unwanted attention.

Jared rechecked his phone, but there were no calls or texts. He sent Y/N a text as he began to panic. Maybe he shouldn't have left. Maybe he should go to her house and see if she was okay. His spiraling panic had amped his rut again, the blockers now useless against the many emotions and pheromones clogging the air.

Nurse Benedict - a small but kind man - approached him warily, and Jared looked around to see him drawing attention.

"Hey, Jared," he spoke calmly with a soft smile. "You shouldn't be here in your condition."

Jared could see several patients eyeing him warily, and he knew he was making them uncomfortable.

"I—I'm sorry," he apologized and reluctantly forced himself to leave. The familiar voice of Dr. Collins stopped him at the door.

"Jared?"

Misha had just stepped off the elevators leading to the hospital. Jared's nostrils flared, and his pupils dilated as he caught Y/N's scent from the smaller male. His rut was still simmering under the surface, and her scent on another man—regardless of whom—exacerbated it.

The Alpha within gained the upper hand as Jared rushed Misha, pinning him against the wall with his forearm across the smaller male’s throat, baring his teeth in warning as he growled.

“Where is she?”

“Who?” Misha squeaked, urging Jared to loosen his hold enough for him to speak. “Who are you looking for, Jared?”

“Y/N. Where is Y/N? I can smell her all over you. Did you touch what’s mine?”

Misha knew Jared was deep into his rut. Moreover, his apparent instincts over Y/N further confirmed his suspicions about the pair.

“Dr. Collins,” Nurse Benedict said, and Misha raised his hand to urge him to stay back. “Should I call security?”

“No. Thank you, Rob. We’re fine. Just need a little space to talk, is all.”

Misha remained calm as Nurse Benedict backed away, leaving him and Jared alone. Jared relaxed and released Misha, a part of him sensing his anger was misplaced.

"Is she here?" Jared growled, unable to maintain pleasantries.

Even his logical mind screamed that he was her doctor, for crying out loud. Dr. Collins looked Jared up and down before glancing down the hallway to see Nurse Benedict still watching the scene.

"Come with me," Misha insisted, gesturing for Jared to follow him onto the elevator. Pressing the floor button, the elevator doors closed, leaving the two men alone. "She's on the Omega treatment floor; she was brought in the middle of the night by ambulance."

Guilt slammed into him hard; he knew he shouldn't have left. He was trying to be respectful, but it may have been what sent her there. He couldn't lose her. Not when he'd finally let himself believe they could have something.

The bell chimed, indicating they'd reached their floor as the doors opened again. Jared followed Y/N's doctor in silence. He wasn't her Alpha and wouldn't be allowed to see her or even be on the floor, especially in his condition. But he trusted Misha and didn't want to get thrown out. So he stayed quiet and followed a very close step behind.

Jared tried to tamper down his Alpha as the overwhelming scents of Omegas and their Alphas assaulted him. While he could scent they mainly were bonded, the pheromones had him wanting to fight or fuck it out.

“Dr. Collins?”

A brunette female doctor greeted Misha as they stopped in the hall. Her gaze flicked over Jared questioningly before returning to Misha in confusion. Jared was finding it difficult to control himself when they reached the floor, and everyone was looking at him or scurrying away, his scent potent and alarming.

“Dr. Rhodes,” Misha greeted with a smile. “This is Jared. We’re here for Y/N Y/L/N.”

Dr. Rhodes was slightly concerned and upset over the situation, not to mention the visible marks on Misha’s neck. She was almost sure this was a dangerous Alpha and her colleague was being coerced. Pulling a syringe stealthily from her coat pocket, Dr. Rhodes attempted to inject Jared with a sedative. Jared was too quick - years of police training made him ever aware of possible danger - and he pinned her to the wall, just like he had with Misha, growling and squeezing her wrist until she cried out in pain and dropped the syringe.

“Jared, let her go.”

Expecting Misha, Jared was surprised to see Jensen beside him, still in uniform. Jared eased his grip, glancing at Misha and seeing the fear in his eyes. He forced himself to release the doctor and backed away from her, his eyes flashing between her and Dr. Collins. Dr. Rhodes rubbed her aching wrist as she eyed Jared warily.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came in with the ambulance after the emergency call,” Jensen explained, trying to control his anger. “I let her go home with you, and then I get a call there’s an emergency at her house. I thought you lost control like in the past and possibly did something.”

By the time he finished speaking, Jensen’s shoulders slumped, knowing his words would strike a chord with his friend. Jared was certainly pissed and hurt at the insinuation.

“I left because I didn’t want to force her into anything. I was losing my mind, and I left,” Jared yelled, tugging at his hair in frustration. His arms dropped to his sides, and he started to cry. “I did this to her by leaving. This is my fault.”

Jared dropped to his knees and cried into his hands. He tried to do the right thing by her, but she ended up hurt anyway. Jensen tried to comfort him, helping him to his feet. Jared wiped his eyes and struggled to control his emotions.

“Please,” Jared turned to Doctors Rhodes and Collins. “Please let me see her. She needs me, and I can fix this.”

“She’s unmated,” Dr. Rhodes snapped. “We can’t have an unmated Alpha in a rut here.”

“He’s her donor.”

“Excuse me?” Jared and Dr. Rhodes spoke at the same time.

Jared was just as surprised at Misha’s words; he and Dr. Rhodes both anticipated Dr. Collins's response.

“Y/N’s body rejected everything we gave her until she received Jared’s enzymes. It’s what has kept her alive this long. They are highly compatible.”

Highly compatible—a modern, scientific term to replace the adage of ‘True Mates.’ As Dr. Collins and Dr. Rhodes argued over professionalism and ethics, Jared’s mind tuned them out. Y/N was his—he just knew it, and she needed him. He couldn’t fathom losing another mate; he would surely go feral.

As they continued debating, Jared slipped away. In a trance, he let his nose and instincts guide him, finding Y/N’s room with ease. He entered the room, glancing back at the doctors before mostly closing the door behind him.

The sight of her lying in bed, covered in sweat and groaning in pain, broke his heart. But the luscious scent of her heat called out to him, drawing him closer until he stood beside her bed.

“Omega,” he breathed out, more of a growl that made her body jerk and her eyes flutter open with a groan.

“Jared?” she weakly asked, shuddering from cramps and fever.

Jared took her hand, the heat of her skin scorching. She sighed, and her body relaxed. After only a few moments, he watched in amazement as her vitals settled to something more normal, though her scent grew more potent.

“You left,” she croaked, pulling her hand from his hold, making him frown. “You rejected me.”

Jared was horrified, her perceived rejection making his heart clench painfully.

“No,” he insisted, retaking her hand and urging her to look at him, “No, Omega. I would never reject you. I didn’t want to take advantage.”

Drs. Rhodes and Collins entered the room, and Jared looked sheepish and caught but refused to move from Y/N’s side.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t be in here without authorization,” Dr. Rhodes spoke, Misha just beside her.

Jensen appeared again, grabbing Jared by the arm and trying to lead him from the room, “I’m sorry, Jared. I have to take you out of here. Don’t make it difficult, okay?”

“I’m an authorized donor,” Jared thought quickly on his feet. “You said she was getting my enzymes, right?” he spoke, fighting against Jensen’s hold.

“We could do a direct enzyme infusion,” Misha suggested to his colleague. “Kim, we have to do something. He can help.”

“The infusion would help,” Dr. Rhodes offered.

“No,” Y/N spoke again. “I’m a broken and rejected Omega. I don’t want to go through this anymore.”

“Maybe we can give them a chance to talk?” Dr. Collins spoke with his colleague, seeing she was at least considering. No one wanted to see someone die because they couldn’t be matched or mated.

“We should run tests,” Dr. Rhodes offered with a sigh, both Misha and Jared relieved she seemed to be on board finally. “If they are compatible, they should mate as soon as possible.”

Jared was grateful they were bending the rules. As they all left the room, Jared felt the urgency of convincing Y/N that they could do this - could mate and be together if she wanted.

Holding her hand firmly in his, he cupped her cheek with his other hand, urging her to look at him. He took a moment to caress and soak in her features and scent.

“I left because you smelled so good I was afraid I’d lose control and do something you didn’t want. But I would very much like to be your Alpha.”

“I woke up, and I scented you,” Y/N explained. “But you weren’t there. I lay on the couch. I needed your scent.”

She fought back tears, and Jared did his best to soothe her from his position.

“The idea of having an Alpha, of belonging to them, terrifies me. I never wanted it, and now I’m paying for that. But then you came along, and I wasn’t afraid. I was drawn and curious but never afraid.”

She let her tears fall then but smiled warmly at Jared, squeezing his hand. Jared’s heart swelled. He shouldn’t have left, but now he’d get a second chance.

“Will you let me claim you?” He asked, needing to be bonded with her and knowing her body needed it too.

Before she could respond, two Beta nurses entered with Dr. Rhodes behind them, “So, are we doing the transfusion?”

Y/N and Jared held each others’ gaze for a long moment before Y/N turned to the doctor.

“Yes.”

Y/N looked back to Jared, who kissed her hand and moved into a chair beside the bed. The nurses set up IVs and a machine to feed Jared’s enzymes to stabilize her.

“As soon as possible,” Jared whispered just for her, “I’ll get you home and take care of you.”

The implications of his promise made her shiver. The staff left them alone while the transfusion was going on. However, after several minutes, Y/N looked like she was about to pass out as the alarms started blaring. Jared was out of his seat and at her side in a flash, cupping her face and trying to rouse her. The nurses and doctor rushed in, pushing Jared back into his chair as they checked her over. Her scent blossomed, almost choking him, and he detected the bitter tones of her heat on the verge of turning feral.

“The transfusion isn’t enough,” Dr. Rhodes explained to Jared.

“She needs a claim,” he understood, his feet pulling him closer to her. “Can I take her home?”

He couldn’t lose her, and he couldn’t survive losing another mate. He felt blessed at having found her, but now he felt cursed to know only loss. He knew it would save her if he could mate and claim her.

“She’s not stable enough to leave,” the doctor explained. “But I can secure the room and give you privacy,” she offered instead.

Jared could only nod, his Alpha ready to care for his mate, his scent informing all others to keep their distance. The doctor rushed off, giving Jared a wide berth and securing the door behind her as promised.

“Y/N?” Jared urged, trying to get her to focus on him, to at least hear him. “Omega?”

His voice was tinged with both whine and growl as he let his instincts guide him. He leaned down over Y/N and kissed her chaste but deeply.

“Alpha,” she whispered as her body sought him out.

“My true mate,” he whispered back reverently. “Not how I wanted this to go, but I can’t lose you. Need to mate and claim you.”

She shook her head, fighting to stay coherent and awake as the heat raced through her body. Her utter desperation for the Alpha before her was the only thing tethering her to wakefulness.

“It’s too fast,” she protested, a tiny sliver of rationality clinging to her consciousness.

“You’re dying,” he responded bluntly. “You would have had to have someone assigned as your mate. We’ll never get to know each other if you’re dead. I can’t let that happen when I can help you.” He held her face in his hands, his forehead pressed to hers. “Omega, please.”

“Jared,” she breathed, giving in to her body’s needs and tilting her head to kiss him. He responded in kind, his Alpha chomping to make her his. “Alpha, please. Need you. Need-”

Her voice trailed off as a painful cramp seized hold, making her whine and whimper. Jumping to action, Jared removed his shoes and hastily removed his clothes, leaving him in his boxer briefs. He pulled down the blankets and pushed up her hospital gown to her stomach. Her folds glistened in the harsh light, her scent potent and slamming into him hard. He breathed deep, his body shuddering.

Crawling on the bed to hover over her, she automatically spread her legs, Jared’s hand finding her core. Slipping two fingers inside, he groaned, feeling her soaked and more than ready for him.

She whined and squirmed, the fever taking hold. Jared would have reveled in her desperation and submission, but now was not the time or place. He removed her clothes and climbed on the small bed, settling between her legs and pulling the covers over them for modesty.

His hard and heavy cock twitched eagerly against her hot and drenched folds. Without hesitation, he slid within her, groaning at the delectable feel of her heat wrapped around him. She whimpered again, and he shushed her, kissing her sweet as he began to move.

It was desperate and clinical, feeding primal needs and alleviating both their near-feral biologies. Y/N still felt better than anyone he’d ever had, and he promised himself the romance would come later when they were both safely out of danger.

“Alpha,” she called out, her legs spreading wider, letting Jared slide even deeper. “Alpha, need your knot!”

Jared groaned long and deep, burying his face in her neck as he picked up his pace. The small bed creaked with his every movement. Her hands on his ass, pulling him even closer, reminded him of her desperation and his own.

“Gonna knot and mark you, Omega,” he warned, his knot already swelling, making it more challenging to fuck her how they needed. Feeling her grow close, he slipped a hand between them, rubbing tight and fast circles on her clit.

Her body tensed, right on the edge, and Jared could no longer hold off.

“Omega,” he groaned, his knot popping and locking them together.

As his teeth sank into her neck, marking her as his and bonding them, she came loud and hard, gushing around his knot.

They both lay panting, waiting for Jared’s knot to recede. Jared licked and kissed her wound, allowing his instincts to guide him, his heart full in a way he never thought possible after his loss. Once his knot released, he moved from the bed, dressed, and cleaned them up. When done, Y/N slept, and Jared ran to get someone to check to ensure she was okay.

He knew she would need more than one round to heal, but he hoped he could take her home, where it would be more comfortable and private. Jared rushed out of the room to find Drs. Rhodes and Collins who paused their speech when they saw him.

“Is everything alright?” Dr. Rhodes looked concerned.

“She’s sleeping,” Jared offered.

“I’ll just go check on her.”

Jared followed into Y/N’s room, and Dr. Collins was close behind. They both stood by patiently as Dr. Rhodes examined Y/N.

“She seems better,” Dr. Rhodes announced. “I’ll need to draw some blood, and we’ll need to keep her for observation for a few hours.”

Jared tensed but nodded. He didn’t want to be in the hospital any longer than necessary and just wanted to get her into a comfortable bed where he could tend to her every need and bring her back to life. But he could force himself to wait a few more hours for Y/N’s sake. He’d rather know she was stabilized before he removed her from the place that could save her if something went wrong.

“Try to get some rest,” Misha insisted as Y/N’s blood was drawn. “You both need your strength.”

Once again, they were left alone, the door secured behind them. It was easier to control his instincts now that they were bonded, but it still took effort to restrain himself from those having to touch or go near his mate.

Jared took residence in his chair again, scooting it as close as possible to the bed so he could hold Y/N’s hand as she slept. He laid his head on her belly, watching her as she slumbered. It wasn’t long before he drifted off to sleep with her.

It took half a day and a second round before Y/N was stable enough to leave the hospital. The second she was wheeled outside—per hospital protocol—Jared scooped her from the chair into his arms and carried her to his waiting truck, tucking her safely inside.

Y/N was more than surprised when Jared pulled into her home's driveway. She expected as an Alpha - and her Alpha - that he’d want her in his space. Most Alphas were territorial in that way. Before she could vocalize a word, Jared was out of the truck and at her side, carrying her in his arms again towards her front door.

“I wanted you to be comfortable,” he explained as he opened her door. She was surprised he had her keys, but she supposed she was pretty out of it and was grateful she had someone looking out for her. “I figured you’d want to be in your space for now.”

It would take some getting used to. But as her eyes trailed over Jared’s body as he stood from laying her on the couch, she was thankful to have been blessed with such an attractive and caring mate. But her mood was soured as she smelled herself, a mix of her heat, sex, and not having showered in a couple of days.

“I want a shower,” she whined, her stomach gurgling loudly. “And something to eat.”

“Okay,” Jared readily agreed, ready to help her off the couch. “Why don’t we shower first, and then I’ll make us something to eat?”

“Jared,” she protested. “You don’t have to.”

“You’re my mate, Y/N,” he gently argued. “Please, Omega, let me take care of you?”

He pulled her to her feet, his arms wrapped around her securely. She swooned at his rich and calming scent as he quietly purred to soothe her.

“Yes, Alpha.” She smiled warmly at him, and Jared gave in to his urge to kiss her.

In the hospital, she was so out of it that she could barely remember them mating, let alone his kiss. She could feel the pulse in her neck from his bite, reminding her it was real. She imagined he was as gone as her when they mated, the urgency overriding all else. Now, however, she could savor his kiss - a kiss that was making her swoon so hard her legs gave out. Luckily, he was swift to scoop her into his arms once again.

Jared had wanted this - wanted her - for so long since he had first scented her. The first time, he was in the local bar on a rare night out. He had caught her scent wafting over all the others, calling to his inner Alpha that had been dormant for many years. He followed his nose, intent on finding the source. As soon as he laid eyes on her, his heart stuttered. But she left before he could ever approach her.

The second time he saw her, she was locked in the drunk tank. He had reported for an overnight shift and was briefed on the persons in holding. That’s when he learned her name. He spent the entire night with a watchful eye, her scent driving him mad with want.

Y/N’s second visit to the drunk tank was his third time seeing her, and they spent most of that time in friendly chatting. That’s when Jared began to wonder if he could ever have a chance with this stunning Omega that called to him. It was also the first time he wondered what demons had led her to drink and be locked up. That’s when he tried to rid himself of the idea of her as ever being his. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake her from his mind, her scent ingrained in him.

As he set her down in the bathroom and turned on the shower, Y/N began stripping her dirty and sweat-soaked clothes. When Jared turned back around, finally satisfied with the water temperature, Y/N was naked and smiling shyly. He couldn’t stop his eyes from roaming her nude body, finally able and allowed to view and appreciate every inch of her - and appreciate he did.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” he breathed heavily, removing his clothes as he watched her eyes devour him in turn. “My Omega.”

A shiver ran through Y/N’s body at Jared’s Alpha tone, laced with his desire for her. They both took their time appreciating each other's bodies. Y/N had never seen a man so fit and toned or a cock so large and - frankly - beautiful, which is something she never thought she’d say.

As another wave of her heat ramped up, she trusted Jared to help her. Y/N’s mind was foggy, and her body focused only on her basic needs. She could barely stand on her own in the shower. She could smell Jared’s delicious scent all around her, already mingling with hers. His hands, large and warm, delicately cleansed and caressed her skin.

After showering, he dried her down, and she slipped on a silky robe that barely covered her ass but was lightweight and didn’t irritate her frazzled skin. Jared threw on his boxers and t-shirt, knowing she’d need him again soon and not wanting too many layers in their way.

He left her on the couch, searching her kitchen for something to feed them. He opted for eggs and toast, something easy to make and eat. As he gathered the needed items, he noted that there were bottles everywhere he turned. Some bottles were empty, some half full or waiting to be opened. He was more than worried and knew he’d have to ask her about it. Maybe he could help her.

Bringing the plates to the living room, Jared handed her one as he sat on the couch beside her. He observed her as they ate, more than happy that she liked it and ate it all. Without a word, he gathered their dishes and neatly placed them on the coffee table. He planned to wash them at some point, but he needed to confront her about the drinking finally.

“Y/N?” Jared began cautiously, grateful when she eagerly met his gaze. “I don’t want to tell you how to live your life or try to control you; I’m not that kind of Alpha,” he started, her brow furrowed as he continued. “It’s just…all the drinking, the bottles everywhere, ending up in the drunk tank. I’m worried and want to help if you let me.”

She dropped her gaze to her lap as she nodded her head. She had expected it to come up at some point. After all, it was a prominent part of her life lately, and she worried it was all Jared really knew about her from being locked up so much.

Y/N could only feel safety and comfort from Jared, no judgment or anger. Their bond was new and raw, but she was grateful that she could feel him and knew it was okay to be honest. She met his eyes again and smiled reassuringly.

“For a while, it was the only way I could escape the pain, at least for a little while—mental, emotional, physical pain over my whole situation. I never wanted to be tied to a mate. I didn’t want to be matched to someone I didn’t love or know just to stay alive. I didn’t want to die or hurt myself; I just wanted to escape. I don’t need to drink, and I never really enjoyed it either. I want to give it up.”

Jared had expected at least a small argument or fight, not immediate acceptance. He placed a hand on top of hers, needing to feel her and reassure her. She flashed him that soft smile again and squeezed his hand back. Now, he felt like she was the one comforting him.

“I mean it,” she insisted. “I fought against this whole thing, but now that we’re mated, I am happy and content. I’m happy it’s you, and I know being mated to you will heal the pain. My health and mood will improve,” She laughed to herself. “It feels so stupid that I fought against it so much. It’s better than I ever thought it could be to be mated to you.”

He couldn’t help it as he leaned in, cupping her cheek and kissing her deeply. To know that she genuinely wanted him as much as he wanted her, after everything and how she felt, she was more than just okay with him claiming her. She was happy; she wanted it, and he wanted her.

Y/N kissed him hungrily, pushing him back into the couch and crawling into his lap as she demanded more. Jared wrapped his arms around her, moaning as she ground her bare, wet folds against his clothed cock. He hastily undid the tie of her robe, brushing it off her shoulders and to the ground. When his hands found her warm flesh, he hummed in satisfaction.

She ground her hips into him as she devoured his mouth, desperate for her Alpha, her heat ramping up again, far from satiated. She ran her hands down his chest and whined at the t-shirt that obscured her from his flesh. Jared caught on quickly, breaking the kiss long enough to pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside. Her fingers trailed over his torso, exploring his flesh as she kissed him deep again.

Her grinding was riling him up quicker than he’d anticipated, her scent and neediness, the desperate sounds she was making, all colliding into a perfect storm that aroused him to no end. But he’d promised her that he’d mate her properly when they were home, and that’s precisely what he intended to do.

Scooping her into his arms, Jared stood and carried Y/N toward the bedroom, finding it hard to focus as she continued grinding against him and nibbling at the sensitive spots on his neck.

“Naughty little Omega,” Jared playfully chastised as he slapped her ass. She gasped and ground against him harder. “Oh, you are naughty, aren’t you?”

Stepping into the room, he laid her on the bed and removed his boxers before he crawled over her with a smirk.

“Oh, maybe we can play Cops and Robbers, and you can punish me, Padadeputy,” she teased with a sultry smirk.

Jared growled and kissed her hard with teeth and tongue, “Next time,” he promised. “I have something else in mind,” he added as he pulled back and rolled her to her stomach. “Promised to claim you proper.”

She attempted to rise and present, but he placed a large hand on her lower back, keeping her flat and prone on the bed. He bent one of her knees, exposing her to him. Using his knees and thighs, he nudged her further until he could settle comfortably on top of her and between her thighs.

Y/N moaned as his weight settled on top of her, pressing her into the mattress. She was trapped beneath him, unable to move much in any way. But she wasn’t afraid. Instead, she willingly submitted to her strong and potent Alpha.

Jared shifted his hips and slowly guided his cock into her tight and wet core. It felt like an eternity before he finally settled deep within her, moving his hips to nudge against her depths. Y/N moaned, her fingers clenched in the sheets. He was so deep, and she felt so incredibly full.

While they had already mated, it was rushed and fevered, and she was so out of it that she didn’t remember much. Now, however, she could feel every little thing, which seemed deliciously overwhelming: from the emotions, the connection, and the sensations of him nestled inside and around her.

She squirmed desperately beneath him as much as she could. Jared nipped her shoulder, and she went still with a whine. He rewarded her by glacially pulling out and pressing in again just as slowly. She needed more and was growing ravenous, but he had other ideas.

Jared continued his slow and passionate rhythm, his hips rolling like gentle waves lapping at the shore. It felt incredible, and Y/N could feel every detail of his length as he speared her open again and again. But it wasn’t enough to take them anywhere. Instead, Jared held them in the realm of pleasure, near torture, with seemingly no end in sight. It was maddening and divine.

“Tell me how it feels,” Jared whispered as he kissed her neck and shoulders.

“Alpha.”

“Tell me,” he reiterated, nipping at her claim and making her moan.

“Feels big and deep,” she gasped, and another nip told her he wanted more. “Ugh! So thick and hot, splitting me open. Feel like you could break right through into my womb. So full,” she whined into the sheets.

Jared groaned and increased his pace, his hands exploring her body, his mouth tasting everywhere he could reach as he drove them both toward their ends. His body stilled as his knot popped, locking them together as his cum flooded her channel. He leaned in to renew his claim; even the bite was intentional and slow, and Jared savored the pop and burst as her skin broke anew.

“You did so well, Omega,” Jared praised, shifting them to a spooning position as they waited for his knot to go down. “How are you feeling?” he asked, leaning on an elbow to look down at her.

Y/N met his eyes and marveled at the many colors present and the myriad of emotions reflected back at her. Her heart swelled, and she knew she already loved him. She never knew mating could feel like this like she had found a piece of herself she was missing. Jared was a better Alpha than she ever imagined an Alpha could be. All the pain and suffering was worth it just to find him.

“Lucky, Jared,” she smiled warmly. “I feel so damn lucky.”

FOREVERS:

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RPF:

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#against all odds #spnaubingo #anyfandomangstbingo #afgomegaversebingo #samwinchesterbingo #A/B/O Dynamics #Alpha!Jared x Omega!Reader #Jared Padalecki #rpf #supernatural #spn #walker #oneshot #long fic #reader insert

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slut-for-evans-stan · 9 months ago

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Please recommend some Sam Winchester × f! reader Smut fics.. can barely find any that I haven't already read (but there aren't a lot) . I need moreeee.

I've so many ideas for new fics but absolutely no time to actually work on them. Ughhh! Trying to actually write and post atleast one here as soon as I can. Let's see when that happens :')

#sam winchester x reader #sam and dean #dean winchester smut #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader smut #sam winchester smut #supernatural #spn fanfiction #spn #smut #dean winchester #sam winchester fluff #the boys #marvel #reader insert

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corinthianism · 1 year ago

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last kiss | sam winchester (5)

pairing: sam winchester/f!reader additional tags: best friends to lovers (?), fluff, angst warning(s): implied/referenced non-con

masterlist | previous chapter | ao3

CHAPTER FIVE: TEN SECONDS

You didn’t know where you were. You didn’t even know how much time has passed since Lucifer took you away. He stashed you in some house. It looked like a normal suburban home, except it seemed he used his amped-up archangel abilities to essentially create a whole pocket dimension for you. On a surface level, every day felt like a normal day. Night and day passed just the same as it would in the real world. You had neighbors, and they were both familiar and unfamiliar. “Dean” lived right across the street whilst “Bobby” and “Cas” lived right next to you. The other houses were occupied by random people you didn’t know. It was like a bad djinn hallucination.

The routine was always the same: wake up, eat, try to kill time, sleep, repeat. In the beginning, you thought you were just having a bad dream; that Dean, Bobby, and Cas were really there with you. However, when you tried talking to them, they were way too out of character. Dean acted like a stereotypical macho man with absolutely no personality whatsoever, Bobby’s parental instincts towards you were taken to new heights in an almost cartoony way, and Cas was a helpless imbecile.

Then there was Sam. Sam was the only one who acted like himself. You’d wake up next to him, eat meals with him. You did everything you normally did with him, except in this weird world, you weren’t hunters. It felt eerily similar to the dreams you’ve had before.

He kissed you, touched you in ways the real him would never have the courage to do, but you refused to sleep with him. No matter how many times he tried to initiate it. He wasn’t real, and this was all wrong.

He would leave at exactly 9am everyday. Those first few days, you tried finding a way to escape. You tried talking to your “friends”. You tried hurting them. You tried pleading with Sam. When nothing else worked, you tried killing him.

And he was dead. For a while. The very next day, you woke up next to him again, as if nothing happened. After that, you resigned to just doing whatever you could to not be present in the moment. You played the role of housewife, because there was nothing else you could do.

Until now.

You woke up again, expecting to see the same cream-colored walls and smell the same ever-present smell of lavender. Instead, you were in an unfamiliar room.

The first thing that hit you was that it was rancid compared to what you were used to, as if somebody tried to hide the smell of a dead body with some berry-scented perfume. You turned around, and there was Sam. He donned a fully white suit, his hair uncharacteristically slicked back.

“You’ve been very impressive,” he winked at you, taking his hands out of his pockets to give you a mocking slow clap. This was Lucifer and when you looked into his eyes, you couldn’t find a trace of Sam. “For someone so in love with him, you did a bang-up job of… well, not banging him.”

You didn’t answer.

“Aww, come on now. Giving me the silent treatment?” he stepped forward. “What if I told you… he could still hear you if you talked to him? Not that he would be able to answer. Not unless I wanted him to, of course.”

That got your attention, and it gave you a boost of courage that had otherwise been taken from you. You ran towards him, grabbing him by the collar.

“Sam? Sam! Listen to me, if you’re in there, you’ve gotta fight it! Take back control, Sam!” you pleaded desperately, your last attempt in getting your best friend back.

His expression changed, and suddenly, he grabbed your shoulders. His body language and the cadence of his voice changed as well, and for a moment, all hope was not lost. It was as if the clouds parted to reveal the sun. This was your Sam.

“You’ve got to get out of here,” he pushed you away, looking around frantically for an exit for you to use. “You have to stay away from me, you have to—”

You took several steps back, turning around to grab the doorknob, only to find that the door was just part of the wallpaper, “What—”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” it echoed from behind you. You turned around slowly, and “Sam” was standing perfectly still and upright once again. “Naughty Sam. Naughty you.”

He approached you, stopping right in front of you before he looked you up and down like a predator assessing its prey.

“So, it’s just you and me now, princess,” he tilted your chin upward to have you look at him. “You know, I can see inside Sammy’s head, and my, my, my… the thoughts he has about you aren’t as innocent as you think they are.”

You scowled at him, even if it was unnatural for you to do such a thing to Sam. This wasn’t Sam anymore, you had to remember that.

“Remember… Jessica? Oh, I bet that one broke your heart. The love of your life going off to some fancy Ivy League and getting a pretty blonde… well, if it’s any consolation, he was always thinking of you. I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason he could get off whenever he was inside her.”

He laughed, as if he said the funniest thing in the world. He traced hearts and random shapes on your cheek, his laughter dying down into a contented sigh.

“You and I are gonna have a lot of fun together,” he finally said, his hand sliding down to your neck, and then to the collar of your button-down plaid shirt. He unbuttoned it once, “Sammy’s screaming at me right now. It’s very annoying.”

He unbuttoned another one, “I don’t see why he’s not enjoying this more, honestly. After all, this is what he wanted. If anything, I’m doing him a favor.”

He leaned closer, and you desperately tried to slow down your breathing. Your heart was pounding, so much so that you were almost sure that Lucifer could hear it. You always wanted Sam, but not like this. Lucifer knew that, and so he would do exactly what he wanted.

Lucifer, in a mission to ruin you forever, took more and more of your dignity with each button he removed. Finally, when your skin was on display for only him to see, a wide grin appeared on his face. Sam’s face.

“You’re never going to be the same after this,” he promised, and all you could do was hide somewhere in your mind where even the devil couldn’t find you.

▼△▼△▼△▼△▼

Lucifer took you to a cemetery, whispering in your ear about how once Michael showed up, you were gonna see the greatest battle in history. Of course, Lucifer would win.

Ever since that night, you felt like a prisoner of your mind. It was both your safe place and your punishment. You tried to remind yourself that it wasn’t Sam; that it was Lucifer who stole your dignity. Sam would never… Sam could never hurt you the way Lucifer had.

Even in the presence of two archangels, you stayed silent, and accepted your fate. Half of the world was gonna burn to the ground when this was all over, and you just hoped that your death would be quick. You felt sick when Michael looked at you, something akin to both disgust and pity written all over his face.

Then, the familiar rev of Baby’s engine reached your ears. Your head shot up, seeing the Dean riding the Impala into the graveyard, right in front of Michael and Lucifer.

Dean got out of the car, his eyes immediately flickering over to you in worry, but he pressed forward and marched right up to the two archangels.

“Hey, we need to talk.”

Lucifer scoffed, “Dean. Even for you, this is a whole new mountain of stupid.”

“I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to Sam.”

“You’re no longer the vessel, Dean. You got no right to be here.”

Dean turned to Michael, his voice filled with sincerity and regret, “Adam, if you’re in there somewhere, I’m so sorry.”

“Adam isn’t home right now.”

Castiel and Bobby arrived, with Cas throwing a can of holy fire at Michael to keep him at bay. This irked Lucifer, who then snapped his fingers. Cas exploded, leaving behind bits and pieces of blood and flesh.

“You know… I tried to be nice, for Sammy’s sake. But you are… such a pain in my ass,” he threw Dean against the windshield of the Impala.. Bobby shot at Lucifer’s back, prompting Lucifer to twist his hand. Bobby’s neck snapped.

Your eyes widened, two of the people you cared about was just murdered by Lucifer, and you’d be damned if you weren’t gonna do something about it. You ran towards Lucifer, trying to get him away from Dean. With a flick of his hand, you were thrown against a nearby tree. The impact was enough to knock you out for a few seconds, your vision falling in and out of darkness.

You laid motionless on top of the pile of dry, dead leaves, unable to do anything but watch. Lucifer got closer to Dean, grabbing him by the legs and then punching him.

“No!” was what you wanted to say, but nothing came out. You could feel a branch poking at the skin of your back.

Lucifer kept punching Dean, over and over until Dean’s face was barely recognizable.

Then something happened.

His fist was still raised in the air, and you could see the internal war raging inside him. His hands shook, and his grip on the collar of Dean’s shirt loosened. There was a glint in his eyes, one that told you whether or not the body you were talking to was Lucifer or Sam. You held your breath, eyes lasered in his face, not sure if the person in front of you was your Sam.

For him, it felt like time had stopped. There was no apocalypse. No Lucifer. No Michael, no nothing.

All he could see was the toy soldier stuck in the Impala’s ashtray. That was enough for him. The sight of the toy, the memories etched into the car, the image of his bloodied brother in front of him who, even then, was still unwilling to fight.

The memories didn’t hit him like an outside force, they came from him, blossomed from a place he forgot about. Locked in a treasure chest he kept in the deepest corners of his soul, where not even the devil could touch it. Clear as day, he relived every single one, and with each memory, the clearing grew wider. He could crawl out and push Lucifer back.

He saw it all: the good, the bad, and the ugly. He remembered sticking that toy in the ash tray, and the stern, drunken scolding that he got from his dad soon after. He remembered him and Dean etching their initials on the car door. He remembered the fireworks. The countless nights of booze and fastfood takeout. Lying down on the hood of the car to watch the stars whenever they were in between cases. All the times Dean saved his ass, yelled at him, laughed with him, and everything in between.

His eyes met yours, and the sight of you broke his heart all over again.

Sam didn’t have much time. This much he knew. He could feel the mind-melting, soul-breaking pain of Lucifer scratching at his walls— no, he was tearing them down, howling to be in control once more. Sam could hear every single scream and whisper that Lucifer was filling his ears with and it was too much. In his gut swelled the familiar hatred that the fallen archangel harbored for humanity, and it wasn’t the boiling hot rage that most people would expect. It was the kind of hatred that flowed through each and every single blood vessel in your body; the kind that only a being as old as the devil could feel. It was quiet, deadly. It was the kind of hatred that consumed you, built up from eons of being locked in a cage like an animal. Lucifer blurred the lines between his anger and Sam’s, and that scared the younger Winchester.

But standing there with you, seeing you as if it was the first time, Sam thought he could bear it, if only a little while longer. Standing there with you made it clear that that hatred couldn’t possibly be his own, because how could he ever hate you? No, Sam Winchester loved you, and it came to him as easy as breathing.

More memories broke through, and this time, they’re of you. The way your eyes crinkled when you smiled. The sound of your laughter in the early morning. The time you helped him make a girl jealous in 8th grade when it was really just an excuse to be close to you. The time you kissed him when you were as high as a kite after getting your wisdom teeth removed.

If he closed his eyes, he could feel the ghost of your lips on his and pretend that everything was alright. Lucifer would not take this away from him.

Finally, Sam lowered his fist and gasped as his senses were flooded with everything. You could almost sob in relief, if it wasn’t for the fact that it wouldn’t be long until Michael and Lucifer came back with a vengeance, but nothing could ever be worse than what would come next. Sam took several steps back, rummaging through his pocket to retrieve the Four Horsemen’s rings. Your muscles ached as you tried to get back up, but nothing could trump the pain in your chest as you watched Sam slowly back away from Dean.

It’s cruel, probably the cruelest thing that the universe threw at you. You had seconds of clarity, and they were the seconds counting down to the love of your life’s suicide. Sam looked at Dean, and then at you, and you almost wished he didn’t. For a moment, you thought that maybe this was all some one sick, twisted nightmare and that you were gonna wake up any minute now. You blinked, but Dean was still beaten and bloody and Sam still felt so far away. There were tears in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Even now, he still tried to keep on a brave face for you. It almost made you smile. A tiny part of you hoped that maybe the apocalypse wouldn’t be so bad as long as you went down with him. Almost as if you wanted Lucifer to win just so you could keep Sam in the only way you could. The thought passed as quickly as it came, all while feeling like a knife had been twisted in your stomach.

“It’s gonna be okay, I got him,” he breathed heavily, stepping away from you and Dean even further. “We’re gonna be okay. Everything’s gonna be alright.”

He sounded as if he didn’t really believe himself either.

He pulled out the Horsemen’s rings from his pocket and threw them on the ground, chanting the incantation to open the cage. The ground shook, and before you knew it, a large pit had opened up in the soil. From where you stood, all you could see was a black void, but you knew what it was. It was hell. It was the deepest, darkest, most depraved part of hell and Sam was going in with a one-way ticket.

“Sammy,” your voice broke. He turns his head to look at you again. You didn’t know what to say. Did you want to stop him? Jump into the pit with him? Profess your undying love for him?

None of those options seemed right. The clock was ticking.

Ten.

You could see how scared he was, his hands trembled with the weight of what he was about to do. You wanted to go up to him, hold him, tell him that he was going to be okay, but you couldn’t. It was dangerous, yes, but you knew that if you took even just one step closer to him, you wouldn’t let him go.

Nine.

“I’m sorry,” he called you. “For everything.”

He took another step back. He knew what Lucifer did to you, and it crushed him. It took everything in him to not go to you and protect you the way he wanted to. To beg for your forgiveness.

Eight.

“Sam, please,” you begged, though you weren’t sure what you were begging for. You looked over at Dean, trying to get him to back you up. World be damned, you won’t fucking lose Sam. Dean could only stare back at you, his head hung low in defeat. He was letting go, and he was telling you to do the same.

Seven.

The air seemed to grow heavier, and Sam yelled at you and Dean to stay back. Even though it broke your heart to do so, you did as he asked, scurrying over to Dean’s side to help him get away from Sam. Dean grunted in pain, clutching your hand that was on his chest. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart under your palm.

Six.

Sam called your name, and nothing was more important. You stood up, heart clenched in anticipation.

“I need,” he took a deep breath. “I need you to know.”

Five.

“Need to know what, Sam?” a cry escaped your lungs.

“That it’s always been you,” he smiled sadly, voice barely heard over the chaos. “It was always gonna be you.”

It was odd, the way the heat rushed to your cheeks. The way your own heart beat twice, thrice as fast than it already was. You could almost let the world around you fade away. There was only Sam.

He spoke again, a little louder, a little braver, “You know that, right?”

Four.

“I know,” you tried to stifle your sobs. His admission hung in the air, filling your lungs with everything that was him. He loved you, and you always knew.

“That’s my girl,” he kept smiling, determined to make sure that that was the last thing you saw. He didn’t want you to remember his death. He just wanted you to remember him.

Sam knew why you didn’t say it, and it was for the same reason he did. It was better this way. Saying those three words would set things in stone, and especially now that he was seconds away from his death, he didn’t see the point of hurting you that much more.

Three.

Michael returned, a wave of unseen energy washing over you and Dean at his arrival. His anger distorted Adam’s young face. Panic overtook the anger, however, when he noticed just how close Sam was from jumping off the edge.

Two.

Sam closed his eyes, letting gravity pull him in. Michael screamed, rushing over to stop Sam from falling in. For a split-second, you feared the worst would come to pass. That Michael would save Sam and just resume his world-ending battle with Lucifer.

Sam’s eyes shot open when Michael’s hands tried to get him away from the pit but immediately, his gaze flickered over to you.

You, with the pain of a thousand lifetimes weighing on you, and the cuts and bruises and tears to show for it.

You, with the laughter that pulled him out of every nightmare on the days when his own mind wouldn’t let him rest.

You, with the proud, contagious smile after every hilariously bad joke, all because you wanted to see him smile, too.

His heart was yours, perhaps it had been since the beginning, but Sam knew one thing: this world was better with you in it.

With all the strength he could muster, he grabbed Michael by the lapel of Adam’s jacket, and pulled him into the pit.

Sam was gone.

One.

When the pit closed up and left nothing but the Four Horsemen’s rings behind, you forced yourself to move away from Dean and approach the rings, kneeling by the spot where the pit just was. The world was safe again, though you didn’t know how long that would last. The grass was soft under the palm of your hand, as if there wasn’t a massive doorway to hell there just moments prior. You let yourself cry; to truly pour your heart out for someone who wouldn’t be able to hear it.

You would never have another morning coffee run with him or another all-nighter spent on researching monster lore. No more pop culture debates or stitching up each other’s wounds. You would never make him smile, ruffle his hair, or hold his hand again, nor would you feel him keeping an eye on you while you slept.

Since before you hunted your first monster, Sam had been by your side. Now that you didn’t have him, it felt as though you weren’t a whole person. Like your very soul had been torn apart and its pieces were lost in the wind, never to be complete again.

Castiel returned, seemingly resurrected by none other than God Himself, and immediately helped Dean and Bobby get back up on their feet, all shiny and new. When he walked over to you, his hand reaching out to touch your cheek and heal all your wounds, you moved away. Your face was littered with small cuts from being thrown to the side by Lucifer, and you were sure there would be a massive bruise on your back from the impact.

You still refused to be healed.

“Let it be,” you told Cas quietly. He frowned, hesitant to heed your request, but he obliged anyway.

Seconds. It only took seconds for you to lose everything. You didn’t know what you were feeling; if only there was a word, any word, for you to explain to Dean, Cas, maybe Bobby, the way you felt everything and nothing at the same time.

Truth be told, you were lucky to have only lost one person, but the lingering question in your mind was why did it have to be the person who meant everything to you? There was no answer, and the silence was the worst of it. Sam wasn’t there to tell you that he’s okay, and he won’t be able to ever again. Your injuries ached. You almost welcomed the discomfort, desperate for anything to keep you grounded.

A large hand rested on your shoulder. It was Dean. You shared a look with him, a silent exchange of “I’m sorry” and “I’m here” to each other. In your grief, it was easy to forget that Dean had lost his baby brother, just as you had lost the love of your life. Moments later, Bobby stood beside the two of you. Three people brought together in grief that they weren’t sure they could ever recover from. You knew then and there, that you’d spend the rest of your life picking up the tiny little pieces of your heart, trying to be okay. Because that’s what Sam would’ve wanted.

You would never know so many things. The pain he’d go through. The fact that as he fell into the darkness, white-hot flames burning his flesh, he thought of you. Poked and prodded, stabbed and skinned, broken and put back together just to be broken again. What Sam knew, even if you didn’t, was that he’d make this same choice again and again because he knew you would be okay.

Sam Winchester died, and it came as easy to him as loving you.

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